


Mary's Kitchen

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Angel Cult, Angel Culture & Customs, Angel Family, Angel Sickness, Angel War, Angst, Baby Angels, Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Birthday Party, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel Has a Cat, Castiel Has a Guinea Pig, Cooking, Cults, Dean Cooks, Diners, Disease, Domestic Castiel, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Dean, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Fledglings, Fluff, Gabriel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Gabriel Being Gabriel, Gen, Love, M/M, Magic, Magical Pregnancy, Making Out, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, POV Castiel, Parent Castiel, Parent Dean, Parent Sam, Parents Castiel & Dean Winchester, Poison, Poisoning, Pregnancy, Protective Castiel, Protective Gabriel, Rebel Angels, Rebellion, Romance, Sam in Love, Schmoop, Secret Order, Secret Society, Secrets, Sex, Sigils, Smut, Spells & Enchantments, Surrogacy, Suspicions, Suspicious Castiel, Toddlers, Waiters & Waitresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 80,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months shy of the fledgling nest turning two, life is nothing Castiel expected. The angels have assimilated into human life despite still having their powers. Demiel owns a 1930s-style diner, named after Mary Winchester, along with the nest. Lonely Sam seems to have found love with her as well, and has embraced raising her fledglings. Even Bobby seems to adore playing Hael's father while she attends art school. Everything seems too good to be true, yet Dean and Castiel still feel something's missing from their family. They want a human baby to give James a sibling bond like Sam and Dean had. Struggling with surrogacy stretches their patience thin, especially toward Gabriel, now sitting on Heaven's throne, as he promised them another child. Meanwhile, Hael announces that she's found another fallen angel, Jeremy, and they're in love, but something's not quite right about him. Before long, the nest must band together once more as Jeremy threatens to expose their identities to Sioux Falls. Will they lose their homes and livelihood? Will Dean and Castiel have another baby? (This story is the sequel to Cas, You Had A Baby? - http://archiveofourown.org/works/981908)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of a multi-chapter story. All of the tags will make sense as it goes along. This story is the sequel to Cas, You Had A Baby? - http://archiveofourown.org/works/981908
> 
> Also: some chapters through the course of this story will contain strong sexual content.

"Kit-teh!"

"James, pet the kitty nicely." Castiel didn't even have to look away from the kitchen counter to know chubby toddling legs chased the poor cat across the living room.

"Kit- _teh_! Kit- _teh_!"

"Come here, bug. Eat your breakfast so we can go see DD."

The fledgling, 22-months-old with a mop of Castiel's dark hair, Dean's innocent green eyes, and a smattering of freckles, waddled from the apartment living room into the dining area just off the kitchen. Having such an open floorplan made it easy for Castiel to keep an eye on his fledgling now that he grew so active. Fledglings imprinted aspects of their guardians, which apparently included aspects of personalities, because James took on Dean's tendency to get into trouble in his effort to have fun.

"Daddy! Kitty eat!" declared James quite proudly with their black cat slung over his arm. The cat had long since gotten used to being carted all over the house by any of the six fledglings in their family nest.

"No, no," Castiel replied patiently, letting the poor cat go. "Bixby eats cat food, not angel food."

"Big-bee!"

With a chuckle, he scooped James into his arms--plucking a stray blue Lego brick out of his downy white feathered wings along the way--and slid him into the high chair. Angel wings collected a ridiculous amount of dirt, bits of toys, cat fur, and food when attached to a toddler, yet Castiel dared not say a word of complaint. Soon James would go through his first molting and then those lovely sweet wings would disappear from Dean's sight forever. Castiel's husband of nearly two years never said anything anymore but he knew it bothered him, making him sometimes rather insecure that James bonded with Castiel  _more_ since they were the same species.

Castiel placed a plastic dish with two lightly toasted rolls smothered in a nourishing mixture of honey and crushed rose petals. "What do we do before we eat?"

"Pway!"

"Good." He took a seat at the table with his fledgling and folded his hands, waiting for the boy to do it with him. Fat little hands balled together with his elbows braced on the high chair tray. Castiel spoke in deliberate syllables as he did before every one of James' meals in his effort to educate the fledgling in old Enochian prayers. "Bless the honey and bless the rose. Bless the nourishment of my grace as it grows. Bless my family and bless my nest. Bless us all so we may do our best. Amen." It was a simple prayer taught to all fledglings since the beginning of angelic existence. Gabriel taught it to Castiel when he was as tiny as James--a very different father-son relationship but one that paved the way for Castiel to raise children of his own the way he saw fit.

A doubled, urgent knock followed the blessing over James' food and Timaniel, one of the other angels in their nest, appeared with his own fledgling. "Good morning, Cas."

"Hello," replied Castiel without getting up.

The Winchesters had an open-door policy with the nest since most of the angels lived in the same apartment complex. Only Demiel struck out on her own and converted the two floors above the diner she owned into a home for herself, her two fledglings, and most recently, Sam. Though the relationship began quite rocky and moved in hesitant baby steps over two years, Sam finally moving in with her solidified their budding family unit.

"I miscalculated diaper useage last night and now I'm late for work. I need a diaper," announced Timaniel, marching back to James' room.

"Children never follow estimated calculations," Castiel replied, amused that Timaniel still hadn't fully adapted to living in human society yet. Variables and surprises often left him baffled and flustered. "I'm going to the diner as soon as James finishes eating. Don't rush. You and Sarah can have a ride with us."

"Demmie won't like me being late," warned Timaniel from deep within the apartment. "She told me last week that she depends on my mathematic precision to keep the books in order."

"It'll be okay. Leave her to me."

A sound of acceptance emanated from James' bedroom, nearly covered over by an absent thought tumbling out. "Oh, I got a letter from Hael with yesterday's mail delivery."

"A letter? Not an email?"

"Emay!" chirped James with honey dribbling down his chin. "Emay, emay, emay, emay!"

""Not email, no." Timaniel reappeared with little Sarah in a fresh diaper and a green gingham dress suitable for the coming spring. "She wrote in her letter that there's no emotional connection in electronic transmissions and she refuses to participate in the disconnection of society. Then she wrote that I would understand her meaning better if I gave in to my emotions rather than be controlled by the cool reserve of my angelic grace."

Castiel flopped back in his chair, possessed by a bout of laughter. That was how Hael had been since her grace was taken from her. An initial plunge into suicidal depression and teetering on the brink of a complete mental collapse led to a six month stay at a psychiatric facility in Chicago. Once she became more stable, she decided it was better to stay there and attend art school rather than come back to Sioux Falls. Castiel guessed that she wasn't ready to be around Evelyn yet--the fledgling she'd given up to Demiel. Instead, she threw herself into learning about being human and studying art, leaving Demiel to raise Evelyn and Noah as twins in peace. Letters came to Bobby more than anyone else as Hael enjoyed the novelty of having an adoptive father of her very own.

"I know. It's all very amusing. Hael hasn't been home in a year and a half and she still understands my inability to change." Though Timaniel rolled his eyes, he still smirked as if it wasn't that hurtful after all. He knew more than he showed about humanity but he never could move beyond his personal shyness and cool reserve, as she put it. "I think she might be thinking of coming home though."

Castiel's head tilted.

"Yeah, it's news, right? She hasn't said anything to you?"

"No."

"She asked what everybody thought of her. I think she's worried about showing her face here again after... you know... leaving Evelyn."

The nest never spoke of how Demiel's twin fledglings weren't really twins and that was the way she wanted it. If she was going to adopt little Evelyn, she'd said, then she never wanted Hael revealed as her original mother. Bonding with fledglings was difficult enough, even for a tough angel like Demiel, but she needed the adoption to be clean and precise. Once done, she never intended to go back.

"You don't think Hael's going to try and reclaim Evelyn, do you?" asked Castiel with a wave of trepidation.

Shrugging, Timaniel helped himself to a pre-made sippy cup in the refrigerator for his daughter. "I don't know. I hope not. Demmie was very clear about her adoption terms and I couldn't imagine Hael putting Sam in between them again. Everything's done. Everybody's happy in the current state of this nest. She has to know it would be futile."

"What's done is done," agreed Castiel.

*****

Sundays were always busiest at Mary's Kitchen, but not before lunchtime as most of Sioux Falls attended church or slept late. If only those churchgoers knew that the diner they'd been packing into for more than a year was actually owned and operated by angels.  _Real_ angels.

The diner filled the ground floor of a building along a corner edge of the town square. Modeled after a diner Demiel had seen in the film,  _Fried Green Tomatoes_ , she accidentally tapped into a tourist audience with a similar nostalgic attraction to that period. Many tourist websites listed the diner as a good family place to eat on the way to Mount Rushmore or places further out west. Road trips paid all their bills.

Glass cases framed by rich, dark wood counters stood in a strong square focal point of the diner. People ate breakfast along the sides of the counters, leaving the front open with an array of desserts to dazzle customers as soon as they walked in the door. To the far left and far right were strong wooden booths of the same rich dark color as the counters where families could eat and have a view of the town square and the park to the east. At the front were several square tables as well. Art deco light fixtures dropped from the ceiling and Winchester family photographs scattered among vintage decorative things on the walls.

James knew the diner as intimately as his own home and squealed happily as soon as Castiel and Timaniel filed through the door.

"Oh, good morning! How nice of you to find time to come into work today!" sassed Demiel from behind the counter. She didn't really mean it. The corner of her mouth turned up and betrayed her harsh words.

"It's my fault," interjected Castiel.

Timaniel patted her on the shoulder and she rolled her eyes back at him, just like brothers and sisters, as he dashed to the back where a local girl often watched their children. Cynthia, while completely human, knew who they were and never allowed the fledglings to be seen outside of the employee rooms without jackets to hide their wings. She was both discreet and paid  _very_ well for that discretion.

"Tim! Tell the nanny she can take the children upstairs today. It's going to be quite busy. We've got a birthday party coming in at one," shouted Demiel into the back.

"Got it!" his distant voice shouted back.

Smirking at Demiel, so thoroughly in her element, Castiel plopped James on the counter. "He wants Auntie Demmie. He's been asking for you all morning."

"I'm working," she replied.

"Family first," he reminded her with a raised brow. "Dean outside? I'll be right back. Be a good auntie for ten minutes."

Before Demiel could con him into keeping James--ever the workaholic--Castiel hustled around the counter, passed through the blistering hot kitchen, and out the back door. There Dean worked the most, having garnered a reputation in Sioux Falls for excellent barbecue. Mary's Kitchen boasted an outdoor barbecue so large that it could keep up with customers devouring it by the plateful. Only the weather determined how much barbecue could be cooked up in a day. He loved spring when he could resume cooking up all the meat people could stand.

Approaching from behind, Castiel slipped his arms around Dean's waist and nuzzled the back of his neck. Salty sweat, smoke, and spices filled the open air.

"Hey, babe," Dean greeted quietly without letting an inch of the ribs go uncovered by thick brown barbecue sauce. "You bring Bug with you?" The remainder of the nest adopted the nickname after Gabriel began using it for James.

"Demmie has him. I wanted to talk to you without the distraction."

"Uh-oh," Dean chuckled. "The hell'd I do now?"

"Nothing. The realtor called this morning." He came alongside Dean to have a better look at his red, sweating face.

"And?" Green eyes flashed up from the cooking ribs.

"We're almost done. The seller chose us but we have more financials to get in order first. You've got some blemishes on your credit. Their words, not mine."

Dean waved a sloppy brush at him, soaked in his secret sauce blend. "We wouldn't be struggling to buy a house if you'd let me do it my way."

"I'm not raising my kids in a house owned by Joe Perry," retorted Castiel.

"Speaking of kids." Dean cut him off as if a stern thought hit him. "Molly's ready to go. Docs gave her the green light. We gotta be at the clinic at 7:30 in the morning."

Hesitation hitched Castiel's voice, thinking of the last two times they found themselves at that crossroads. Twice before the IVF failed. The first time, their surrogate succeeded at becoming pregnant and they even heard the heartbeat. Then she miscarried in her tenth week. A second attempt didn't even lead to a positive pregnancy test. Each time, both Dean and Castiel felt the rugs ripped out from under them and they never expected to struggle in recovery from those emotional blows. Castiel never told Dean but he found the hunter in the bathroom the morning after the miscarriage with a half-shaven face, hunched over the counter, and in tears.

"It's gonna work, Cas," he murmured without looking at him. "It has to. Gabriel created a soul for us. There's a kid waiting to be born."

"I know. I just wish he'd tell us when the right time is for this child to be born because timing is the only thing I can fathom holding us back."

"Well, he's busy up there doing King of Heaven stuff," Dean said.

"You almost sound like you half faith." It sounded like Castiel made a joke but part of himself wondered why Dean was so resolute in trying again and again after each bleak moment of suffering.

Abruptly, Dean's eyes met his and those jaw muscles tightened. "I have faith in you and me, and Sammy, and Bobby, and the rest of us. There's a kid up there and I'm not quitting on any family, even the ones not born yet. Throw all the bullshit suffering at me--I can take it--but our kid's waiting on us for parents."

"Okay." A nod and a quiet syllable brought Castiel to a stronger place. His fingertips grazed Dean's cheekbone. Leaning in, he murmured, "Then tomorrow we try to implant an embryo again," and his lips brushed Dean's affectionately.

Dean smirked against his mouth. "Don't get fresh with me, angel. I gotta work."


	2. Chapter 2

"You're certain you can handle three at once?" Castiel questioned as he gripped James tight, reluctant to hand him over.

Glancing at two other fledglings playing on the living room floor, Sam smiled. "I got it, Cas. One more isn't much different than the two I've got. Demmie's working downstairs. It's fine. Just gotta keep 'em busy on the same thing." His hands opened. "Gimme my nephew."

It never came easily for Castiel to hand James over for babysitting even if Sam volunteered that time. He sighed and peppered James' chubby cheek in kisses, the toddler still sleepy at six in the morning. Fleece pajamas covered him down to his feet in a scattered sailboat pattern. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sam but it was a stressful morning anyway, full of equal measures of fear and hope. He reluctantly handed over the limp, sleepy boy.

"He'll probably sleep another couple of hours," said Castiel.

"Just like Dean," mused Sam, smirking.

"I gotta get to the clinic. I'll probably be late as it is." He slid the diaper bag off his shoulder and left it on Demiel's sensible beige couch. "I don't know how long this will take."

"It's cool. I'll hold down the fort."

"Thanks, Sam." He scrubbed a hand over his face and struggled to identify the anxiety rippling through his stomach.

"It's gonna be okay. What do you call it--the embryo transfer--it'll work whether it's this time or next time. It'll work. You just gotta stay strong. And call me when it's done. Demmie's only working 'til three today, so maybe we can all go out and have dinner or something."

"Sounds great." Castiel offered a feeble smile.

*****

Dean Winchester was, in fact, the worst at waiting for anything to happen. The longer he had to wait, the more irritating things he found to do that could relieve his tension. So there he sat beside Castiel in the fertility clinic's waiting room clicking a pen on the nearby table.

Click. Unclick. Click. Unclick. Click. Unclick. Cli--

"--Dean." The angel slammed his hand over that irritating clicky pen.

"Sorry," he offered after a moment. He slouched low in his chair, thinking. "I wish she'd let one of us come in the room for the transfer."

"What do you want to do? Scrub in?"

At least that got a silent chuckle and deepened smile lines around his eyes. Castiel slid his palm into Dean's hand and the slight tremble he found there surprised him. Pointing it out would make him feel worse though, so he said nothing, but remarked to himself that he'd never seen Dean so unglued as trying to have another child. Sometimes he had to remind himself of how Dean grew up without any semblance of a normal family life and now that he built it for himself, piece by piece, the threat of anything ruining it made him have phobic reactions. He never talked about it but Castiel understood. Their fingers laced together and they squeezed each other in silence.

"Implanting two was the right way to go this time," Dean decided, apparently going over every detail in his mind on repeat.

"We could end up with twins," reminded Castiel.

Dean shrugged. "I'm cool with it. Get all the diapers over with at once."

That logic did appeal to Castiel since most of the dirty diapers fell on him. "Yeah. Double the baths."

"Double the bed buddies," added Dean.

"Double the playmates for James," Castiel continued.

"We'll see." Letting out a heavy sigh, Dean's head tipped back against the wall. "Gabriel gave us one soul though. If we have twins, the second one would be random, or we won't have the second one at all."

"That's okay too," said Castiel. "I'm sure Molly will happily go through a multiples pregnancy but I know a single pregnancy would be easier on her body."

"I don't wanna keep putting her through this even if she's a paid surrogate. If it doesn't work this time, we should really sit down and figure out where her head space is, because a surrogate too worn down can't be good for our new little grape."

"Grape." It made Castiel chuckle every time.

"What?" Dean's finger curled into a tiny round shape. "They start out itty bitty like a grape."

A nurse appeared in bright peach scrubs and carrying a plastic neon clipboard. "Mr. Winchester?"

"Yes," they both replied simultaneously.

An amused twinkle brightened the nurse's eyes. People always looked at them that way when it wasn't disdain, as if same-sex couples were adorable novelties. She gestured for them to follow. "It's all done. Miss Molly would like to see you now."

Dean and Castiel followed obediently as the nurse led them through corridors lined with exam rooms and procedure rooms.

For the third time, the Winchesters greeted young Molly lying in a hospital bed with her knees drawn up and a blanket folded over her body. The embryo transfer procedure always left her rather cold. Castiel bent and unzipped his backpack while Dean leaned over the bed for a grateful hug. He produced a quilt from his backpack, along with a bright purple gift bag.

"How'd it go this time?" asked Dean kindly.

Molly smiled up at him and gave a thumbs up. "They said the embryos were good and strong. I've been loading up on protein and all that good stuff. I think this is the time, guys."

"Well, right now it's about keeping you comfortable for the next few weeks and letting nature do its work," replied Castiel as he showed her the quilt. "My sister sent this along since you have a tendency toward being cold more often than not. And Dean and I got you a few things to keep you entertained while you rest."

Molly's bright blue eyes lit into an excited glow with the prospect of gifts. She leaned up just enough to take the quilt and the bag with a grateful smile. They'd chosen her mostly for her good health and success with two other successful surrogate pregnancies, but also because she bore an approximate resemblance to Castiel. Her genes mixing with Dean's would create a child for them that could pass for a child they made together. Molly was fresh out of graduate school but decided to give some of her childbearing years to those who couldn't have children after witnessing her sister's struggle with infertility.

"Oh, you remembered my books! That's so thoughtful!" She nearly shrieked with excitement as she shuffled through a selection of Christian-based romance novels.

Oddly, a woman of such strong Christian faith having no problem at all with helping a same-sex couple have a baby was one of the selling points for Castiel in choosing her over the others. There were so few people who claimed to be Christian and actually lived the principles of unconditional love, acceptance, and no judgment. Several women outright rejected them because they were  _homosexuals_ as they'd called it. Yet Molly never blinked in spite of her strong Christian faith. It made him want to know her. She stood out to him even though her religious preference made absolutely no difference to Dean.

"Also, one more thing. We've decided to give you a suite with your sister in that hotel across from the diner until the first blood test," said Castiel as Dean nodded in agreement. "That way you'll have housekeeping and room service and you won't have to worry about anything except keeping still for the little grape."

"The little grape! Is that what you're calling the baby now?" Molly dissolved into giggles.

With a sheepish grin, Castiel pointed to Dean, saying, "He started it."

"Oh, that's so precious. I just know you're going to love this baby as much as you love your first son. Everything you're doing for me is above and beyond too. God will bless you in due time." Fingertips dabbed stray tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry. Too many hormone shots. I just think you're such a great family. God bless you."

Too bad Molly could never know she was a surrogate for an angel.

*****

Waiting for the first blood test was the longest five days each time for Dean and Castiel, but life never stopped for them. The following night found the Winchesters at the diner with the rest of the nest after closing for the monthly family dinner.

Around four tables put together into one large table, each angel sat with their fledglings in high chairs in between them as well. Three little girls and three little boys grew up together like cousins, though all of them were created within a week of each other. And each of them imprinted aspects of their parents, making little Katrina resemble her father, Hetanel, who occupied a Northern Cheyenne vessel. The strongest imprint happened between them as if Hetanel had been created just to be her father. William resembled his mother, Mael, occupying an Italian vessel--the dark twin to her light, Irish twin, Hael. The smallest fledgling, Sarah, along with her father, Timaniel, closest resembled the Winchester with golden-brown hair and hazel eyes. Noah resembled Demiel, who occupied a Puerto Rican vessel, which confused people when she called him Evelyn's twin. She still possessed the pale, soft countenance of her original mother, Hael.

"I gotta get under the Impala tomorrow," Dean told Bobby as he scooped a helping of mashed potatoes. "Can I get in your garage?"

"Yeah, if you take a mower to the lot," replied Bobby in the seat next to him, with Evelyn gnawing on green beans on the other side.

Dean nodded. "Deal."

"Great."

The grumpy old man, Bobby Singer, oddly counted himself as grandfather to all of the fledglings but little Evelyn carved out a special place in his heart. He'd informally adopted Hael to give her an identity and a shot at a normal human life. Crusty old men like him were always suckers for granddaughters toddling around in sweet little dresses.

"Here, Evy," the old man's gravelly voice said to the toddler. He put a sippy cup in her hand. "Take a drink 'fore you choke on them beans."

Sam, across the table, smiled to himself and gestured at Evelyn with his fork. "Hey, you guys notice she's still imprinting? I didn't notice it 'til Demmie pointed it out the other morning."

"Imprinting what?" Castiel studied the little girl.

"Wait 'til she smiles," replied Sam.

Beside him, and it looked like her hand rested on Sam's thigh under the table, Demiel seemed to glow from within the core of her grace. If an angel could feel honest bliss, it was Demiel who puzzled out that riddle and made it her own.

"Her smile changed last week. It's his smile now, with that subtle dimple and everything," Demiel explained. "I didn't think the children would still take on new characteristics at this age."

"I suppose anything's possible before the first molting," guessed Castiel.

"Congrats, dude," Dean said between bites of fried chicken. "Looks like the twins accept you as their dad after all. You were worried 'bout nothing, huh?"

"Well, Evelyn accepts me. I dunno about Noah yet."

"He loves you," murmured Demiel softly.

Mael stood up at the other end of the table and tapped her glass with a butter knife. "Okay, everybody, we need to use this time wisely. The little ones will be turning two in a couple of months and, as we all know, that's a momentous year for our fledglings. So I think maybe we could have a birthday party. Here. At the diner. What do you all think?"

"I like that idea," Hetanel agreed.

Nodding, Timaniel agreed as well. "As long as costs and duties are divided equally, we could give them a nice party."

"What kind of theme?" asked Demiel.

"Something gender neutral," Sam proposed, looking around at an even number of boys and girls. "Technically our kids don't have genders and I think it'd be too complicated doing boy things and girl things at one party anyway. We don't know what genders they prefer yet, though we can guess they'll be comfortable the way they are right now. Who knows though? One day Katrina could go look for a male vessel or something--just an example. So, yeah. Let's pick a neutral theme."

"I think so too," Castiel said, nodding.

"Oh! I got it!" Hands tossed up, an air excitement came over Mael. She hopped on her heels. "Okay, okay, consider this. Under the sea. William watches The Little Mermaid all the time and I sing that song for days like I can't get it out of my head. So we can do ocean stuff. Decorate the diner and have a big cake with colorful sea creatures."

"The kids could have fish sticks," Demiel suggested, always thinking of food. "We could have salmon or something. I don't know if I can get fresh seafood here in South Dakota but I can investigate."

"Great idea, Mael," said Hetanel.

"Okay, we'll divide up details by email this week and use next month's meeting to finalize everything." Demiel, despite being quiet and satisfied with a homey life, had quite an intense streak in her that demanded leadership, most likely from her history of being in an elite angel combat garrison in Heaven. She suppressed her tough training and ability to kill with just a finger if she wanted, channeling it into a domestic presence that gave Martha Stewart a run for her money.

"Before we cart out dessert," Sam began, standing with his glass, "I think we all know yesterday was a big day for Cas and my brother. They had another embryo transfer and the surrogate's resting in the hotel across the street right now. With some luck and...  _Gabriel_ \--" Sam paused and glanced Heaven's way, "--they could have another baby nine months from now. So let's toast. Here's to a Christmas baby."

"To the football team," sassed Bobby, raising his glass.

"Here, here," toasted the other angels.

*****

"For a guy who doesn't sleep, you sure look wiped out," Dean whispered over the sleepy bundle in his arms.

Crawling into bed, Castiel leaned over and pulled their shared blanket over James' bottom. He still curled himself into a ball with his legs tucked into his body whenever he slept. One wing curled around Dean's arm, keeping him close, while the other draped unmoving over the mattress.

"I spent the day chasing James all over the apartment," Castiel explained quietly as to not wake him. "He knows he can't fly. He mimicks the rules all the time. Does that stop him from sneaking behind my back? No. I found him on top of the refrigerator giggling at me when it was time for him to go down for his nap."

Dean snickered into his pillow.

"Of course you find it funny," the angel retorted. "He gets that rebellious attitude and daredevil nature from you."

Snickering turned into muffled laughter.

"It's a serious problem, Dean," protested Castiel until he too dissolved into muted chuckles.

"I know, I know." Eventually Dean gave in to the authenticity of the issue.

"What if one of our nest takes off flying in the middle of the grocery store or at the playground? They'd be following their natural urges as angels but then everybody in town would know what we are. You know as well as I do that humans never tolerate the knowledge of angels and demons very well at all. If our identities are uncovered, they'll either make us circus sideshows or they'll chase us out of South Dakota with pitchforks and torches. I like it here. I don't want to be forced into starting over again after everything we've been through."

"You're dramatic when you're wiped out," Dean muttered with a smirk.

"It's a serious problem," he pressed harder.

"Then the kids have to know it's serious. They're smarter than human kids at this age. We just have to drill it into their heads that the only place they can fly is Grandpa Bobby's house. If they fly anywhere else, then there'll be consequences 'til they learn."

"Such as?"

Dean thought about it. "Time out and repetition of the rules."

"That could work...." Castiel acknowledged.

"Bug learned to say Daddy and DD because we repeated it all the time. He can learn rules the same way." Playfully, he reached over their son and patted Castiel's head. "You're doing okay, Daddy. Quit worrying so much. In a few months, Bug'll start molting and people won't be at risk for seeing his wings anymore. And our next kid won't be a frequent flier."

"Yeah," replied Castiel anxiously, "but we could have a girl. That means she'll want to bring home boys."

"Or girls," Dean said.

"Or both," added Castiel right back.

The hunter let out a heavy sigh in the dark. "Maybe you should start learning to shoot now...."


	3. Chapter 3

At first, when Castiel heard the murmuring on the balcony, he thought Dean was on the phone. He still talked to his brother three or four times a day despite living in the same town and often working the same shifts at the diner. Once James balled himself in a sleepy ball on the middle of their family bed, Dean often took care of his phone calls while Castiel picked up toys and dirty laundry.

Dean's silhouette on the balcony leaned over the railing, his shoulders hunched and his head dipped low. That sagging posture caught Castiel by surprise in mid-stride. He busied himself on the floor with disassembling James' latest Lego creation into the bin, but really used it as an excuse to observe his husband.

"...but there isn't enough to square away debt right now. I'd rather eat my own liver than send out a red alert because praying's the same as begging but here I am." Dean's profile turned toward the sky and glowed soft golden under the building's security light far off to one side. "You got your ears on up there, Gabriel? Haven't seen you since I married Cas. Now we're on the third try for that baby you promised us. Are you even King of Heaven anymore? Look man, you swore you'd be a better father to Cas and I'm working my ass off to give him this house he wants to buy and this baby but I'm running outta options. I'm broke. I'm exhausted. I love Cas and I love our son but you gotta come through for us. If you're his dad, then be his dad. Help us. Help your grandson. Help the grandkid that hasn't been born yet...."

Discreet and silent, Castiel crept out of the living room before Dean finished his prayer. He'd never known Dean to pray to anything besides him before but he didn't quite know how much pressure he felt until that night either. There were debts to pay before they could buy their house--that was true. Dean said it was under control though, that they could handle it.

A wash of guilt knocked Castiel over and he sank onto the bed where his fledgling slept. His hand covered James' back, thinking he had to do something more to help his family if they were going to add another baby to it.

"Daddy has to find a second job," he told James in a whisper as the toddler slept. "DD needs our help now."

*****

"You're not gonna believe what happened," Sam said without even a hello as he opened the door to the apartment over the diner.

"Oh, that sounds foreboding," said Castiel.

"Not foreboding," Sam replied. "Just weird."

He followed his brother-in-law to the kitchen. Along the way, he put James on the floor among the twins playing on a mat with a selection of plastic toy cars. Twice a week, he and Sam made an effort to have a playdate with their fledglings since the younger Winchester got serious with Demiel. They were great friends and, in fact, Castiel wasn't ashamed to call Sam his best friend. As Castiel took a seat on a barstool at the kitchen island, Sam began making a pot of coffee.

"Gabriel," he opened with a dramatic huff.

Castiel stiffened. "Did you see him?"

"Not exactly." Rummaging through a kitchen drawer, Sam produced a crinkled, aged paper and handed it to Castiel. "I got up this morning after Demmie, you know? So I come out here and I see movement through the door and I'm looking--" As he spoke, he reenacted the scene and peered hesitantly out of the French doors he built a few weeks before to replace a sliding glass door that Demiel deemed ugly. "--So I'm trying to figure it out and there's a freakin' owl. An  _owl_ , Cas. It swooped in through the door--it was open a little bit--and dropped a  _scroll_ from its talons on the rug right there."

"An owl? Isn't that from  _Harry Potter_?" Castiel asked, nose wrinkled.

An exasperated hand flipped. "Exactly! Gabriel sent a letter by a freakin' owl like we live in Hogsmeade because apparently he thinks it's funny."

The image brought a barely contained smirk to Castiel's lips as he unrolled the aged paper, which wasn't aged at all. It smelled like it had been soaked in tea. He quickly read the letter and found an announcement that Gabriel would be making a visit for the collective second birthday of their fledgling nest. At the bottom of the page, a hasty Enochian message simply said,  _The time for Dean and Castiel shall soon arrive_.

"Yeah, what's that part about?" Sam set a coffee cup out for Castiel and noticed him reading the Enochian.

"He says our time is coming. Dean and me."

"Oh!" Forehead lifted, Sam appeared suddenly willing to forgive the odd way Gabriel chose to communicate. "Must mean the surrogate's gonna have a baby this time."

"Perhaps." Tension came over Castiel as he rolled up the letter again and abandoned it on the kitchen island in favor of the scalding reality of hot coffee.

"What's with you?"

"I can't seem to relax and quiet my thoughts," admitted the angel.

"You're stressed out. Okay, why?"

Judgment told Castiel not to confess to Sam because he'd inevitably go and tell Dean. The Winchester brothers never kept secrets. It never bothered him ordinarily but the potential of putting Sam in the middle of marital stress seemed like a bad idea. At the same time, he didn't have friends outside of the nest.

"It's Dean, huh?" Sam surmised without being told.

"Yeah," said Castiel. He swallowed a bit of his sugary coffee and took a deep breath. "I overheard him praying last night. I didn't mean to."

Sam's head tilted. "Dean doesn't pray."

"That's what I thought too but he was asking for Gabriel's help. I don't think he's done it before and I really didn't mean to eavesdrop but I just happened to come into the room. He was on the balcony."

Concern aged Sam's features as he leaned on the counter. "Well, what was he praying about?"

Again, Castiel wondered if talking about it was a good idea. "You can't tell him we're having this conversation. He doesn't know I overheard part of what he said."

"Got it."

"I'm serious."

"Cas, it's okay. I'm not gonna tell him."

Nodding, Castiel sipped his coffee again as if it gave him courage. "He's telling Gabriel that we don't have the money to clear his debts so we can finalize buying the house. I thought we were okay. He told me it wasn't a problem but the worry in his eyes was sincere. Not having the money to provide for us really seems to frighten him. That frightened  _me_ because I know him as a pillar of confidence and strength."

Sam broke eye contact, his mouth pursed into a thin line, and he slid away from the kitchen island. "Well, you're not wrong. Not having money scares the shit out of him." The way Sam chose such careful, deliberate words pointed to a secret in his mind. He asked, "You're not reading him? I mean with your angel mojo."

"No," Castiel replied. "Last year I learned to block out you, Dean, and Bobby out of respect for your privacy."

"Mh-hmm," Sam hummed, considering it all.

"Sam?"

"Money--it's a sticky thing with Dean," the younger brother explained as if working up his courage to say more. "He, uh.... Okay--you know he used to take care of me when Dad disappeared working jobs or going on benders or whatever."

"Yes," said Castiel.

"Sometimes we'd get stuck without any money or food or anything." Still, Sam didn't face him. "I never saw it and I didn't know at the time, but later on, Dean told me he sometimes had to do stuff with guys to make some quick cash for a few groceries. The first time, he was like fourteen and I had strep throat, so I needed antibiotics. He said he was going to the store but he was gone for a long time, like two or three hours, and he came back with my prescription and a bag full of food. It went on like that for a few more years 'til he learned to hustle pool and poker like Dad."

All the oxygen vacuumed straight out of the room, not that Castiel required it, but he felt dizziness on such a scale that it must have been the way humans felt before they passed out. What Sam insinuated should have revealed itself to his angelic senses before, but some humans buried secrets so deeply out of fear or shame that not even angels could reach them. He steadied his nerves.

"Are you saying Dean ... sold himself?"

Silently, Sam nodded as he looked out of the kitchen window. "It wasn't because he wanted to."

"I know," Castiel assured softly.

"Dad taught us from diapers to _get the job done no matter what_. Drilling that into our heads kinda backfired for Dean, I guess. But Dad should've been there. He should've been the one buying me cereal and watching my fevers and stuff, not a kid like my brother." He fell into a contemplative silence for a time. They both did. "Anyway, that's why Dean freaks out when money pressures get to him. He remembers how desperate we were and what he thought he had to do to keep child services from finding us. Something catches a tripwire in his head when money gets low and he panics like it's all on him again and he'll have to go back to _doing that_. Consciously, he knows he doesn't need to but I guess doing what he did traumatized him." Finally, Sam faced Castiel with the utmost sincerity. "Try not to take it personally. He always works through these bad spots in his head somehow."

A parade of signs went through Castiel's mind--primarily, Dean's obvious affection for him in the beginning but his blatant fear of turning it into a physical relationship. After they slept together for the first time, Dean had admitted only doing it because Castiel had wanted it. Then they'd fought. Eventually, everything evened out into happiness but a wash of guilt knocked Castiel down there in Sam's kitchen.

"Cas?"

The angel looked up from his coffee mug.

"It's okay. He hasn't done that since he was a teenager," Sam said.

Castiel nodded, but stammered, "I ... I feel terrible."

"It's not your fault. It's not his fault. It's not my fault. Dad's really the only one to blame here and it took me years to make peace with it." He clapped a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "It'll all work itself out. Just don't tell him you know because it's really embarrassing for him. We pretend like it never happened."

"Yes. I understand." But Castiel was more determined than ever to find a second job, to shoulder more responsibility for Dean.

The younger Winchester brother's mouth twitched into an attempted comforting smile. He swallowed his own coffee then, casting a watchful eye over Castiel's head to the three fledglings systematically destroying the living room. Sounds of happy children seeped through Castiel's uncertain mind, pulling him back to the reality of the day. Gratitude for those children, especially his James, swelled around his grace in his chest because they kept him from sinking back into his old melancholic habits. There wasn't time to feel the weight of self-imposed failure as an angel with starting potty training soon and bath time, bedtime stories, trips to the park, and working in the diner.

"Hey," Sam began, trying to lighten the mood, "did I tell you Evelyn called me daddy the other night?"

Castiel's brow arched. "Really?"

"Yeah. Kinda weird. I never figured I was any kind of dad material--not like Dean--but I gotta step up if I love Demmie, which I do," he explained. "I dunno though. Evy was in her crib and she yelled daddy really loud but it didn't even dawn on me that she was calling me. I just kept watching the movie on TV 'til Demmie was like, 'Are you gonna see what she wants?' It kinda smacked me in the chest. She called me daddy on her own, not Sammy anymore, and I just...."

"Felt like a father," Castiel filled in for him.

"Yeah," agreed Sam. "I mean, Noah's still saying Sammy, which is fine, but Demmie said he'll catch on. He's slower with learning speech."

"Don't worry. They love you."

"Yeah, me too. It's just so ... unexpected."

"Are you unhappy here?" Castiel probed.

"Oh hell no. Demmie and I get along great. She's so awesome. Remodeling this building's been really fun for us and she's so tough about getting things done. Sex is terrific too."

The angel cringed. "Overshare, Sam. That's my sister."

He resembled Dean even more as he cackled.

"I'm happy for you," said Castiel with a friendly smile. "I knew you were serious about her when you were willing to take on her fledglings too."

"I dunno what I'm doing half the time but these kids ... I think I actually do love them like a dad should." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Having kids was never the plan for my life. I like it though. People out there really think they're my kids too when I go out with them and I never expected to like that feeling either."

"If you feel like they're your children, then they are," Castiel pointed out. "Biology is only a spark of life. One sperm doesn't make a father. Taking care of these children because you have the desire makes you as much of a father as Dean. You may have come into things late and taken everything quite slow with Demmie but I don't think it's the same as engaging in an amorous bond with a human woman who has no children. You've gone about it the right way. Dean and I had to progress slowly too, for the sake of my fledgling, to be certain he really wanted both of us."

Sam listened, taking it in as if he needed permission to carve out his own role in that family. "You're right," he said eventually. "I do feel like they're my kids the longer I live here."

"Then they are," Castiel affirmed. "Do you think you could look after James for me tonight?"

*****

A home didn't feel complete anymore without James there but Castiel convinced Sam to have an overnight. He leaned on the bedroom doorway watching Dean dig around the dresser drawers. A bath towel gripped his hips and kept him covered after a rather long shower. Some days, the heat of the barbecue meant he soaked under the cold shower head for a half hour before even sitting down to dinner.

"Gonna watch me get dressed, Cas? Didn't know you were such a voyeur," he commented with a smirk.

"Put on something nice," commanded Castiel, his tone soft but low with authority. "We're going out."

Dean righted himself and his brows knitted together. "Huh?"

The angel sauntered across the bedroom and locked eyes with Dean, feeling somewhat cocky, but aware of a plan to make the hunter forget his stress. He tugged the towel off Dean's waist, leaving him naked.

"I said put on something nice, love. We're going out," he repeated.

A subtle smile plumped Dean's mouth. "What's gotten into you?"

"We're going for a drive. You know the place, hm?"

He gave Castiel a blank stare until realization deepened the green shade of his eyes. Darker, yes, remembering the place they used to go when James was tiny and the two new daddies needed to escape the bustle of such a chaotic family. Absently, Dean leaned in for a kiss as if just thinking about their old spot relaxed him. Castiel's fingers curled in his short hair and he became flooded by the desire to make his husband happy and support him through his struggles.

"We'll go have something to eat and go for a drive. Just us," Castiel promised affectionately.

Whether Dean was just too tired to argue or he really was enticed by the spontaneous plan, he put on a black button down shirt and jeans that fit tighter than his usual pairs.

They rode out to a steak place far away from the diner to avoid feeling like work. Castiel carefully avoided talking about money over dinner, instead favoring the much happier topic of their second baby. They agreed they had a good shot at a successful pregnancy that time, although Castiel chose not to tell him what Gabriel wrote yet. He didn't want to get Dean's hopes up without fully knowing what the King of Heaven meant by their time was coming. They would know soon enough. The first hormone test was scheduled for the day after tomorrow, and then an actual pregnancy test a week afterward.

"Do you have a gender preference?" Castiel inquired as he sampled red wine that he hadn't tried before.

Dean shook his head. "Not really." He popped a bite of steak into his mouth and added, "I definitely don't wanna know ahead of time."

"Is that so? No ultrasound?"

"No. Not for the gender anyway. We get so many shitty surprises, you know? It's time for a  _cool_ surprise like whether it's a boy or a girl. I think we oughta wait 'til the little rugrat's born." It seemed Dean had been thinking about it a lot lately. "I'm gonna be happy whether James has a brother or a sister. Aren't you?"

"Absolutely," Castiel replied. "The surprise sounds nice too."

"Shit, this is good steak," enthused Dean to himself as he cut into it.

The night covered South Dakota as Dean and Castiel piled into the Impala after a bottle of wine and enough steak to fill them for a week. Castiel didn't need to eat but he did when they went out for dates like those, realizing the importance of human bonding over food. Stars twinkled brighter as the stretch of highway took them further away from civilization. Low, thumping, seductive Zeppelin beats swirled inobtrusively through the Impala as Dean reached over and covered Castiel's thigh under his warm palm.

Castiel looked over to Dean's shadowy profile as the Impala rumbled around them. A sudden moment of quiet sentimentality crept through the angel and he felt quite human. No longer here nor there, sometimes acquired humanity felt much like the real thing, or so he guessed. Once he got used to not relying on his angelic powers, he didn't miss their convenience as much. He felt closer to Dean that way, honestly.

Out west on 90, near Hartford, the Winchesters occasionally parked in a spot overlooking Grass Lake. It sat beneath a mountain and people fished for Smallmouth Bass, Walleye, Carp, Largemouth Bass, Northern Pike, Pumpkinseed, Muskie, Crappie, Yellow Bass, Channel Catfish, Bluegill and White Bass. Castiel knew the species by heart once he realized how much Dean enjoyed fishing, though he didn't know the first thing about baiting a line or anything to join his husband's hobby. One day. There would be time to learn.

"Picked a good night," Dean said as they sat on the hood looking at the stars. "Coulda got stuck in the rain."

"I thought getting out of Sioux Falls for a little while would do us some good. Soon we might not have time for this as often," replied Castiel, linking hands with him. "It's been at least eight months since we've been out here."

"More like a year." A low sigh escaped Dean. He was relaxed.

As the hunter scooted closer to the angel until they tangled around each other like a single creature, Castiel knew he succeeded. He couldn't tell Dean anything about what he knew but he  _could_ work harder at creating a safety net for him. Of course, he'd lived among humans long enough to know how sappy that sounded and how sappy things were frowned upon, but what Dean didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"So..." Castiel whispered, "what do you want to do tonight?"

Dean thought about it as a slow smile emerged. "You," he whispered with a wink.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains strong sexual content as well as discussion of racial slurs against Native Americans.

Dawn rolled across Grass Lake like a warm gray veil, hiding the Impala from the reality of the world. The Impala really was too small for two grown men to camp out for the night but it hadn't been their plan in the first place. It just kind of happened.

Castiel, leaning on a pile of clothes in the backseat, peered down at the mess of golden-brown hair pillowed on his chest. He let Dean sleep most of the night there, wound together in a tangled mess of confined, naked limbs. If that old Impala could talk, she'd have dozens of stolen moments to report between them like the one they shared the previous night. She kept those secret encounters to herself like she kept all of Dean's private details silent as the grave.

A light stirring brought Dean around, slowly at first, the way he always resisted waking in the early morning hours. Fingers flexed where they rested around Castiel's upper arm. Sluggish groaning stretched his throat as his body stretched, curled, and rolled into consciousness. Patient as always, Castiel played with his hair as he woke.

"Mmhh," he mumbled into Castiel's chest. "Forgot where I was."

Castiel smiled indulgently. "Good morning, Dean."

"Shouldn't have let me sleep here like this. You can't be comfortable." Sleepy green eyes turned up to his face.

"I'm okay," replied Castiel. The lightest touch of his fingertips traced the highest point of Dean's cheekbone and around his earlobe. "You slept deeply. I didn't feel right about waking you. It's not like we have a baby crawling all over the bed through the night either. You needed rest."

"Yeah, only because you wore me out." Smirking, Dean inched forward and nipped at Castiel's lower lip. "I dunno what got into you last night but I needed it."

"Just devotion," he said in his simplistic, slightly antiquated way.

The truth was Castiel planned everything to relieve Dean's stress without Dean actually knowing it. Seeing how well he succeeded with the dreamy, quiet expression blanketing the hunter's weathered face gave Castiel a sense of peace that he couldn't describe. So he tucked it away somewhere inside where the human part of him lived and understood the rewards of selflessly loving Dean. He offered a faint smile, knowing a bit of tenderness would be well received in the privacy of the car parked by the lake without cynical comments about masculinity.

A flutter of a smile answered him, and then a glimmer of life came to Dean's eyes. He rose up on his hands and, keeping Castiel just where he wanted him with the strength of his thighs, let his smile turn from sweet to salacious. Bending, he branded Castiel's mouth with an insistent kiss. Ideas floated around that hunter's mind. Castiel knew it in the way he refused to pull away.

"We have to pick up the baby," he said once he managed to come up for air. "Sam will be wondering where we are."

"Sammy can wait a little bit," Dean mumbled.

As Dean's weight shifted, velvety softness bobbed against Castiel's thigh, yet extended solid and thickly urgent. His own body responded in time, growing and filling out before he could press his brain into better judgment. The day beckoned to begin, but not while Dean called the shots. Castiel's spread palms coursed down Dean's throat as their mouths found each other again. He enjoyed the warmth of a hunter's chest and wondered at the stories behind each scar, each imperfection in the skin.

It seemed Dean intended to return favors offered to him the previous night and he took a firm lead. A single hand silenced Castiel from trying to switch their positions. No, Dean wasn't having it. Truthfully, all arguments blurred into solitary humming sounds of bliss ringing through his brain as wet kisses left invisible marks across his shoulders and collarbones. Cool morning air shocked the wetness left on his skin until a hyperawareness of his entire body took hold. The pointed tip of Dean's tongue flicked Castiel's nipple--just a slight tease to make him pliable--but he already felt electricity through tiny little hairs all over his body. Dean had that way about him. He knew just what to do.

"This is the way I like you best," Dean whispered. "I got you going now but just enough to lose track of your manners. Should you stay quiet? Should you groan? You dunno what to do but you wanna keep going no matter how much you're not supposed to."

He seemed to say it for his own pleasure as much as Castiel but he couldn't think straight. He'd have to analyze it later.

Dean resumed his lazy morning trail of lazy kisses and drifted lower onto Castiel's stomach muscles. Sensitive spots fluttered beneath his skin, drawing breath from his lungs in cold, sharp gasps. His fingers curled into Dean's hair and urged him on with unconscious abandon. No logic. No reason. Just sensation. He felt his thighs fall open of their own accord the moment Dean scooted down, and then the awareness of a length of hardened, agitated flesh seized him. The need for friction made him wrap his own fist around the base with a teasing squeeze.

"Don't rush me, angel," whispered Dean as he swatted Castiel's hand away.

Calling him angel with that dry, salacious tone always brought out a surrendering sort of whimper. A commanding smile turned Dean's mouth lopsided as he drank in the sight of a naked angel with a flushed pillar of flesh standing at attention against his belly.

He bent, curling his body to fit in the Impala, and dropped shy kisses around Castiel's lower abdomen, precariously close to the promised land. Castiel couldn't help twisting his pelvis toward Dean's mouth despite knowing the hunter rarely ventured into sliding his lips over him. But he did, slowly at first, as he worked up the courage to go further. Even breathing turned to shaking gasps for the angel giving himself up to be played like an instrument. Rough skin gripped him in the strength of Dean's fist and doubled the efforts with his warm, wet mouth.

Castiel sank into a blurry haze of aching heat as his spine bowed and flexed from the car door and pile of clothes. He wanted to watch since Dean so rarely offered himself to Castiel that way--usually preferring to take the other way around--but he proved so skilled or Castiel so unaccustomed to it that his eyes fluttered and rolled. Listening to himself struggle against moaning with uncouth wantonly tones heightened every brush of Dean's tongue and every inch of perfect pressure in each upsweep of his lips. The back of his head hit the glass window and his hands raked through Dean's hair as he slowly lost control over his manners and his cool reserve.

Hips and mouth rolled in rhythm with each other. Castiel looked down and realized the out of balance thumping was actually Dean's fist working himself into a wicked release as his mouth sucked and lapped at his lover. A low humming moan vibrated around Castiel's rigid flesh. The whole of his lower body tightened, readying itself to burst with all the energy of the universe.

"Dean...." His voice came out tense and high-pitched as he tried to warn of the levee breaking.

The hunter let go but Castiel hardly noticed. His seamless transition from stroking lips to stroking fingers never interrupted the building pressure. Green eyes dark with lust watched Castiel and that was the last thing he saw. A blast of white blinded him as the heat turned wicked, delicious, and aching so strong that his entire body curled. He couldn't breathe. He could only feel. Warm, thick ropes squirted over his belly and chest but nothing mattered except riding it out to the last drop.

In the aftermath of the explosion, he came down to sounds of ragged breathing not from his own body. He forced his eyes open and stared in awe at Dean on his haunches in the backseat between Castiel's legs. One hand lazily clawed at the front seat while the other stroked and twisted around his own rigid organ.

"Shit, Cas, shit," he panted and moaned, which was his usual signal whether he knew it or not.

Silently watching Dean's face and chest flush red and his muscles flex with the tremors nearly brought Castiel's limp body back to life again. They were a never-ending cycle of physical aggression making up for years of denying each other what they really wanted--the kind of intimacy that no one else had. Only having a fledgling interrupted their honeymoon phase, making those encounters all the more powerful. Quick bursting groans and a wonderfully agonized face matched the bursts of life-giving liquid from his fist.

As his hand slowed, Castiel found the strength to lean up and trace feathery soft kisses across his lips. Dean's hazy eyes opened again and studied Castiel's face. One of his hands let go of the front seat and lightly framed Castiel's cheek, still unable to speak but saying more than he thought.

"I love you too," Castiel whispered.

*****

Their overnight getaway put Dean in a much better mood that carried into the day of their surrogate's first hormone test. They scheduled themselves to work that day so they could be together while they waited for news--Castiel waiting tables and Dean cooking out back like he always did.

Carrying dinner service for four over his head on a large black tray made him far more anxious than marching off to war. He balanced the plates and side dishes as evenly as possible and hoisted the enormous thing over his head like Mael taught him a year before. Luckily humans couldn't see how Castiel lifted his wings and used them for added balance as he wound around tables. For a Wednesday night, Mary's Kitchen was rather crowded. His section included all the booths flanking the diner along the huge picture windows, which families generally preferred.

"Hi, folks," he said to one booth, mimicking Mael's country dialect that often earned her better tips. One by one, he handed out dinners. "Okay, baked spaghetti for the little lady in a Cinderella dress. Chicken and dumplings for you, madam. And you, miss, pot roast and green bean casserole. For you, sir, the country fried steak."

"I had the pot roast," said the mother.

The older woman switched plates across the table with her. "And I had the chicken and dumplings."

The women exchanged amused eyes and light smirks over the table as if they just knew Castiel wasn't a waiter by trade.

"My apologies," he offered. "We're very busy tonight and our regular waitress took the night off to watch over her sick child." An awkward shrug with his best attempt at a charming grin came then. "Sorry to say you're stuck with me. Can I get y'all anything else?" Saying y'all made him cringe inwardly but rural humans tended to respond better to rural speech patterns.

"You're doing fine, son," the older woman said kindly.

"More Pepsi, please," requested little Cinderella.

"All right, I'll be back with your Pepsi then. Enjoy your meal." Smile. Don't forget to smile.

As Castiel wound around the glass display counters in the middle of the diner, he thumbed through the running tickets stashed in his black pocketed apron. He entered in people's meals on the cash register just to make sure he calculated totals right. The swirling atmosphere of clanking silverware, chattering voices, boisterous laughter, and Dean's occasional shouts of, "Plate up!" from the kitchen all blocked out Castiel's own thoughts. He found it all rather overwhelming and much preferred office work with Timaniel to wait staff work with Mael and the others.

Demiel appeared behind the counter nearby and unlocked a display to retrieve a whole pie. "We've got a birthday over there," she reported. "See if you can refill their drinks in a few minutes while I cut up their pie."

"Okay," he said with a nod.

"Have you heard from the surrogate?" she asked in a more personal tone.

"Not yet. She's supposed to call after church," he replied.

"Okay, just let me know when she calls and you can go on your break."

Castiel nodded again as he fussed with the cash register. "Thanks."

A storm blew through the back as Hetanel arrived looking like he wanted to fight the world. He joined them at the counter and blurted, "Demmie, I'm _not_ accepting the beer and wine deliveries anymore."

"Why on earth not?"

"The delivery guy just called me a--" he glanced around the busy diner and dropped his voice, "--he called me a prairie ni--You know what. If you make me accept those deliveries again and I'm gonna smite him right out back for everybody to see. You got it?"

The color drained from Demiel's cheeks until her makeup stood out all the more. She nodded dumbly after a moment of disbelief, but then the shock gave way to her style of silent rage. When Demiel got that quiet, it was best to run for the hills. Her mouth thinned out and she placed a comforting hand on Hetanel's arm.

"I'm gonna have that guy fired," she assured.

Still, Castiel didn't grasp it. "What's a prairie ni--"

"--Don't say it, Cas," urged Demiel.

"Sorry," he replied.

Hetanel pointed at his own face. "I'm Northern Cheyenne. Or my vessel is. White humans use horrible names like _that one_ to put humans with different skin, hair, and eye pigmentation in their places. My coloring means I'm beneath you because of your oh so pretty light eyes and caucasian coloring. That's what they think anyway. So when I do something innocent like accidentally stepping on that delivery guy's foot, he thinks calling me that name will remind me that I'm still a _savage_ even though this is the 21st century and--" again, his voice lowered, "--and I'm not even human. The screwed up thing, Cas, is I've occupied this vessel for so long that I actually get offended by racial slurs. It hurts my feelings. _Feelings_ , Cas!"

"Take a breath, Hetanel," said Demiel as she rubbed his arm.

"C'mon, lemme smite him," Hetanel pleaded. Apparently he was serious.

"Listen to me. You can't smite the ignorant human," she replied, squaring herself up to look him in the eye and calm him down. "It'll bring trouble on all of us if mysterious deaths start happening in this town. We're trying to blend in here, remember? Let's deal with it the human way. I'll report him as your employer to his employer and hopefully he'll get fired."

"I'll accept the deliveries from now on," Castiel offered.

It took a few moments but it appeared Hetanel's blood pressure lowered finally. He nodded to both of them. "Thanks." A darker thought clouded his face in the next moment. "I just hate the idea of having to teach my daughter to guard herself against the possibility of racism because she imprinted my vessel and looks Northern Cheyenne too."

"Our children won't be raised with prejudices. Take comfort in that," replied Castiel. As he spoke, his phone vibrated in his back pocket. He glanced at the screen and, seeing Molly's name, his stomach dropped to the floor. "Excuse me. I have to take this call."

Off he went, darting through the diner to the kitchen as he answered his cell. He found Dean sitting on an overturned white bucket drinking water from a glass jar, seemingly on a break too. Sweat darkened his t-shirt and shined in streaks down his face but that was par for the course with barbecuing slabs of meat for whole work shifts. As soon as he saw Castiel's face, he jumped off the bucket and followed him outside where the chimney off the barbecue smoked high in the sky. Roasting animal flesh agitated Castiel's nerves. He put his phone on speaker so he wouldn't have to bear the news alone.

"Hi, Molly. I've got you on speakerphone so Dean can hear too. How are you doing? Was church satisfying tonight?" He looked up at the stars, not really wanting to make small talk but he knew it was polite.

"Church was wonderful. Thank you," replied Molly. "God was definitely with our new minister. He's from Tennessee, you know, and has the most pleasing voice. I didn't think our last minister could be replaced after he retired but we're doing well with Pastor Redmill."

"It sounds as if you might like him," Castiel teased gently.

Laughter rang through the phone cradled in his hand. "Oh Cas, _stop_!"

Impatient, Dean nearly rolled his eyes as he motioned for Castiel to move things along. He wasn't the heartless type and he really did like Molly but the baby question had him wound up tight since the transfer.

"Tell us, Molly. How did your doctor visit go?" asked Castiel in his most pleasant tone.

"Well, they took my vitals and drew my blood. You know how this stage is," she explained, her tone turning more official in her job as their surrogate. "Everything's great with my health. The big news is my hCG levels are up, guys. It looks like conception has happened. As you know, we're only a week in but the doctor thinks conditions are good right now. Next week we'll know for sure when I have the official pregnancy test. I'd really like you guys to be there for that. Things feel very different this time and I'm really hopeful that God will grace you with a baby."

Dean's face flushed pink as she talked. He nodded, not that she could see him, and he pressed his fingers to his mouth, looking both surprised and relieved. Tough beyond compare and a warrior at heart, the presence of higher pregnancy hormones reduced him to a man stunned into emotional silence. He stared off at the horizon.

"Thank you, Molly," he offered quietly.

"Oh, you're welcome, Dean. I'm not really doing anything but lending out my body. This is God's work," she affirmed.

Castiel slid his free hand into Dean's and gave him a thoughtful squeeze. "We'll see you next week then."

"Absolutely. G'night, guys!"

"Night, Molly," said Castiel.

"G'night," Dean added.

As soon as Castiel ended the call and stuffed the phone in his back pocket, Dean's thick, heavy arms wrapped around him. They fell into a tight mutual embrace and it didn't matter that Dean's body was filthy and sweaty. Castiel clutched him, burying his face in the warmth of his neck. Neither of them spoke for a long time as the diner went on business as usual with Hetanel taking over the barbecue. He politely kept his distance though and appeared to allow them privacy.

Dean turned his face into Castiel and kissed his temple, and then his cheek. "We're almost there," he murmured.

"This time has to be different," Castiel murmured back.


	5. Chapter 5

Bixby, the family cat, shredded Dean's lucky boxers. Castiel picked up the pieces off the bathroom floor as the silky black feline wound around his ankles, apparently oblivious to the wrong he'd done. Toddling feet padded into the bathroom and, James locating his prized cat, grabbed him up and bounced happily toward the living room.

"James, be careful with the kitty. Nice touch," Castiel called after his son, quite a brute like his other father without meaning it.

"My kit- _teh_!" shouted James gleefully. Everything from a screwdriver he found to his favorite toys were _mine, mine, mine_ , those days but everyone said it was normal. He'd grow out of it with the right discipline.

The boxers didn't look as bad as he expected. He realized most of the damage was done to the waistband and he could fix that with a little sewing before Dean got home from work. Every good soldier could sew a torn uniform, though it didn't seem to be a masculine habit in Dean's eyes. Well, he'd change his tune once he saw how Castiel expertly repaired those lucky boxers.

With just a couple of days left until the surrogate's official pregnancy test, Castiel welcomed menial tasks like mending Dean's clothes to occupy his nervous mind. He brought the sewing box down from the hall closet and joined James in the living room, who had Bixby riding around the carpet in the back of a plastic dumptruck.

"Good boy, James. Be gentle with the kitty," encouraged Castiel as he settled on the couch.

"What you doonin, Daddy?"

"Fixing DD's shorts," he explained as the toddler abandoned the cat and leaned on his knee, observing intently through wide green eyes and messy dark hair. "Careful now. Needles are sharp. You don't want to hurt yourself." Every time he said that, it sounded strange in his ears. James was an immortal celestial being like him and couldn't really be seriously wounded by needles, yet Castiel still protected him by instinct. Even the threat of a stinging scratch brought out his paternal need to prevent undue suffering in his child.

James' fluffy wings stiffened and stilled the way they did whenever something had his rapt attention. He watched, nearly unblinking, and soaked up the mending display with a young thirst for knowledge which had become integral to his developing personality.

"If you're good today, I think we could go see Grandpa Bobby and go flying this weekend," Castiel offered.

That drew up bright green eyes. Freckled cheeks plumped upward with an excited smile lined in little white teeth. "Yeah!" he yelled, hopping on the balls of his bare feet.

"Okay, but remember the rules. What are they?" Castiel tested as his hands mended the shorts in an unconscious rhythm.

"Hmm," thought James aloud. "No fwying 'cept wif Grampuh Bobby."

"Yes. And?"

"Eat stwing beans."

"Good. All vegetables, really. What else?"

James pondered the rules for a moment. "Pwease and tank you." He continued reciting a few others. "Bed time is sweepy time, not pway time wif kit- _teh_. Don't pull kit- _teh_ tail. Don't show mah wings. Don't say I'mma angel. No hit mah cousins. Share mah toys, eben Legos."

Nodding, Castiel patted himself on the back for succeeding at a better grip on discipline, especially when it came to hiding his child's true species. "And what happens if you're bad?"

A sheepish expression came over James' face and a chubby little finger pointed to a quiet corner of the dining room. "Sit in corner. I no like corner, Daddy."

"Well, be a good boy and you won't have to sit in the corner. How is that?" Castiel gave him a smile, which the toddler returned. He ruffled James' hair playfully. "I think Grandpa Bobby will be very happy to see us this weekend. You're his first grandson. He loves you very much."

Quiet time with his boy came to an abrupt end as a breathless, rushed Timaniel poked his head in the front door and, seeing that he didn't come in, Castiel sensed something wrong.

"Come to Mael's home," said Timaniel without even a hello.

"What's the matter?"

"Her fledgling's ill. Very ill."

Castiel's brow furrowed. "Still? I thought he was getting better." He stuffed his mending in the white plastic sewing box to keep James or the cat from running off with the needle and thread. "Look after James for me, please. Will you?"

Nodding, Timaniel slipped through the door and shut it behind him. "I'll take him to my home. I must hurry back before Sarah wakes from her nap." He checked the baby monitor hooked in his back pocket.

"Thank you," replied Castiel as he rushed out.

Mael met Castiel at the door to her apartment with her child in her arms. Little William barely reacted to his presence even though Castiel knew he was the favorite uncle. His rich brown eyes, imprinted from his mother's Italian vessel, opened and studied his uncle's face as if pleading for relief.

"You gotta let me heal him, Cas. I know we said we wouldn't use our powers but look at him. He's not getting better." As Mael made her case, she cuddled her toddler close to her chest.

"It's pneumonia. Both lungs." Hetanel spoke in such a calm, deliberate tone as he leaned over the kitchen counter that Castiel knew things were serious. The less Hetanel reacted, the more dire any situation. "I keep telling her pneumonia won't kill him and she knows it but it's unbearable for her to watch his human vessel suffer. You know how we bond with our vessels before too long. You can tell he doesn't feel well at all, but I insisted we bring you in before we do anything against the policies of our nest."

Castiel nodded and extended his arms. "Let me see him."

The toddler's weight settled limply in his arms, so much unlike James and his confident presence. William had been sick for quite a while but it seemed he took a sharp downhill turn after a period of improvement. Usually Noah, Demiel's son, was the child plagued by respiratory illnesses but they all resolved a long time ago to let the fledglings heal on their own with human medications through their human bodies. Once their graces fully matured, they would stop falling into illnesses. But as Castiel draped a palm over William's fevered brow and then over his struggling, crackling chest, he realized the double pneumonia wouldn't resolve itself. If William had been a human child, he might have already succumbed to it.

"Cas, please," begged Mael. She shuffled from one foot to the other and wrung her hands together.

A slow, resolute nod lifted Castiel's face. "All right. I believe doing a healing is necessary."

Mael breathed an audible sigh of relief and the tight fear unwound from her body. Only a true mother's love could make her react that way. Despite not wanting to rely on their angelic powers in a human world, Castiel knew he'd succeeded at teaching his nest to love their fledglings the same as any parents loved their children. Having to heal William wasn't a failure but a solid testimony for the argument that angels could in fact love and grow beyond their breeding as soldiers.

He looked to Hetanel standing so calmly in Mael's kitchen. Healing the sick fledgling came at the right time for teaching another lesson.

"Come here," he said in his old command voice, cool and monotone.

The Northern Cheyenne angel recognized the tone of an order. Instinct dropped his earthy colored wings in the silent angelic sign of submission to higher authority, much the way a human bowed to royalty. He approached as Mael watched, confused and concerned. What were they going to do to her child? She fought the urge to step forward and intervene. Castiel felt that through her inner voice.

"Several days ago," Castiel began, holding his eye contact, "Hetanel was tempted to use his power as an angel to kill--to destroy a human life and destroy the lives of those around the human. He reacted impulsively to anger, an emotion most of us are still learning to handle. The human committed an ignorant offense and our Hetanel nearly lowered himself to the unnecessary violence prone to all of mankind. We must remember that although we are trying to blend in with the human race for the sake of our fledglings, we are angels and we were long ago charged with loving and protecting life. Only when true evil threatens may we resort to violence." He paused and allowed Mael and Hetanel to take it in before he continued. "Hetanel nearly used his power to destroy life. For that reason, he must be reminded of his purpose. You will, Hetanel, be the one to heal this child of pneumonia here and now. You will be reminded of your power for goodness."

Uncertain and perhaps even a little afraid, Mael's eyes darted from Castiel to Hetanel. He submitted with a willing and reverent nod as his hands outstretched, ready to receive little William. The fledgling being handled by so many angels made him fussy and he coughed deep in his chest, making his mother pace around like a cornered animal.

"It's going to be okay," Hetanel promised.

Limp toddler wings hung over Hetanel's arm as he cradled William and swayed around the room humming a gentle indigenous prayer melody. Castiel probed the edges of his mind hoping to find evidence that the lesson affected him the way it needed to and he stepped back once he realized the Northern Cheyenne angel had a hold on the situation. He never doubted Hetanel's ability to heal but he didn't want him to feel angry over being punished. It was for his own good to remind him of who he was and where he came from with all the goodness angels were created to do. They weren't just warriors. Undoing that violent brainwashing of Heaven's soldiers would take time but Castiel pressed ahead with lessons like those. Restore life. Never destroy it.

Castiel drifted closer to Mael and linked hands with her. She peered up at him through wide, fearful eyes and he did his best to calm her worries without speaking a word. He gave her a faint smile and squeezed her hand.

Large and commanding like his enormous stature, Hetanel's hand stretched over William's torso. Singing indigenous prayer songs wasn't required for an angel to heal anything but Castiel accepted that part of him two years before. He'd been immersed in Northern Cheyenne culture for so long before they ever met that he thought of himself as one of them.

A careful, tentative white glow illuminated Hetanel's palm over the fledgling's lungs. As the grace worked through the pneumonia, William coughed and whimpered. His wings curled upward from Hetanel's arm as if it hurt him to go through a gentle, tentative healing rather than a quick burst of one. Mael lunged forward but Castiel caught her arm, sending no danger for her son.

Gradually, William awoke from his fevered haze. Fussing grew into fearful crying, not really understanding what happened to him. The important sound through the tears was clear lungs and his skin went pinker, filled with renewed life. Hetanel shushed him gently and lifted him over his shoulder, bouncing and walking around the room the way he did to quiet his own daughter's cries.

After a cautious time, he handed off William to his mother and, even though he cried and fussed, little arms grabbed Mael around the neck.

"Mommy," his crying stammered. "Mommy!"

"Shh, baby, it's okay now," Mael cooed, completely ignoring the others in her apartment. She rubbed his back. "It's okay. You're gonna be so much better very soon."

Hetanel's voice remained calming and low. "Give him a bottle. I know--you've got him on sippy cups at this age but he needs to sleep it off this afternoon. You know that PediaSure stuff. Katrina likes the vanilla flavor best. Mix in honey and crushed rose petals the way we used to make in their bottles. After he sleeps it off, he should be hungry for more solid food. Just make sure you're feeding his grace as much as his body. He'll be fine."

"Thank you." With a deeper relaxed sigh, Mael reached up to Hetanel and looped her free arm around his shoulders, squeezing him hard.

Clearing his throat, Castiel discreetly interrupted and tugged Hetanel by his sleeve just a bit. "Come on, let's go for a short walk," he said quietly.

It didn't faze Mael to have them leave so soon. Caring for her recovering toddler overtook her thoughts and allowed them to slip outside, but not before Castiel promised to check on them later in the evening.

Outside, the pair of angels ambled toward the picnic tables neighboring the playground at the center of the apartment complex. Castiel strolled quietly at first, his hands clasped behind his back, giving Hetanel an opportunity to voice any complaints if he had them. But as the Northern Cheyenne angel strolled too, he remained quiet. Castiel realized he was going to have to do the talking.

"You know I didn't do that to punish you, right?" he asked.

A slightly hesitant nod answered him.

"I didn't punish you for the ignorant human brandishing racial slurs against you. I didn't punish you for your hurt feelings either because I want each of you to experience and acknowledge emotions. It's important that we leave behind the blind obedience without understanding the reasons. Rest assured that feeling hurt by those slurs was the appropriate emotional response."

Hetanel nodded again, still quiet.

"The reason I required you to heal William was to remind you of preserving life rather than ending it," Castiel continued. "We are, as angels living as humans, going to encounter infuriating people who say and do ignorant things all the time. What makes us--good people and angels--different from them is our ability to be compassionate and thoughtful even when every molecule in our graces demands a display of power. So while your anger reached your grace and made you feel the urge to smite, you must remember that you're a dignified, compassionate being who cannot do those things anymore. Killing first and asking questions later is how we went from loving beings to murdering war machines in Heaven. We must work to undo all that. And your ability to control your anger to not smite the delivery man was quite promising and worthy of praise. I know how hard it was."

"But you wanted me to feel life in my arms and remember the value of it," Hetanel surmised quietly, nodding a bit.

"Yes, exactly," Castiel affirmed. "I'm only trying to help this nest develop a good sense of life and love so that we may teach our children those qualities."

"I understand." Nodding, Hetanel recognized the return to casual brotherhood and gave Castiel a smile with a clap on the shoulder.

"Are we okay then?"

"Yes, we're fine," he said.

*****

The day of the pregnancy test arrived on the same day that Demiel called a meeting at the diner. No one knew what the reason was but she insisted that everyone come after closing, including Bobby, which told Castiel that it was a financial matter. He was their silent backer. Without him, Mary's Kitchen would never have opened.

Dean clutched James and refused to leave him behind with the babysitter. It unnerved Castiel seeing his husband that nervous to the point of holding onto a toddler like a security blanket. He didn't even notice the way James all but forgot about the handful of toy cars available to him because he couldn't tear his young angelic vision away from the agitated colors projecting from Dean's soul. Once he decided that he wanted another child, he loved it before it existed. Every negative pregnancy test was like a death blow to him. Castiel wondered if he could tolerate a third round of bad news.

"Gabriel, don't fail us now," Castiel prayed under his breath in the clinic's waiting room.

The absolute quiet between them as they followed a nurse to Molly's exam room even kept James quiet. He tugged nervously on the hoodie concealing his wings and kept an arm around Dean's neck for balance. It roused Dean from his stupor and he kissed his child's temple as he walked.

Behind them, Castiel traced loving hands along Dean's shoulders and spine. It's going to be okay, he tried to convey.

In the exam room, Molly stretched out on a padded table with her ankles crossed and her hands folded on her abdomen. Even in such an unnerving situation, she still appeared cool and graceful with a welcoming smile for each of them. Her eyes twinkled brightly the moment she saw James sitting on Dean's arm and holding onto his neck.

"Hi, James!" she greeted happily.

"Heddo, Miss Lady," James replied shyly.

Taking his place at the head of her exam table, Castiel smiled over at his son. "Her name is Molly. She's our special friend."

"How's it going?" Dean asked tensely as he took a seat on a stool and arranged James on his lap.

"They took my blood a few minutes ago," replied Molly, showing them a cotton square taped to her inner elbow. "We're just waiting for the results now. I feel good. No spotting or anything like that. I think we're okay, guys. Just say a prayer and give it up to God."

Dean took a short, trembling breath. He truly was scared but Castiel didn't dare comment on it. There would be time together alone after everything was over, good or bad. Molly picked up on Dean's nerves and adopted a brighter cheerful personality, if that was even possible, and played with James to keep him entertained. They went over a few letters of the alphabet together, making Castiel wonder why she hadn't had children of her own yet.

The door burst open after some time the way doctors always burst into rooms like they should be the center of the universe. Every doctor always had a bit of ego. That was why they were doctors in the first place, because it took a certain amount of ego to cut into human bodies and risk death every day.

"Afternoon, everybody. How are we today?" asked Dr. Kim cheerfully. A beautiful, petite Asian woman, she struck Castiel as a bit of a rebellious spirit on the weekends, so to speak.

"Feeling good," replied Molly with a soft smile.

"Fine, thanks." Dean attempted a smile but he looked far more terrified whenever he tried faking happiness.

Dr. Kim bent and offered her hand to James. "Oh, and who is this little man?"

"Our first son," said Castiel proudly.

"James Robert Winchester!" announced the boy, having recently learned his whole name. He told everybody he met since he learned it whether they cared or not.

Laughing, Dr. Kim shook his hand. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, James Robert Winchester."

The medical file in her hand drove Dean to distraction, like a dog encountering a fresh bag of treats. "So Doc, is it good news or bad news?"

*****

"I'd like to thank everybody for coming on such short notice." Demiel stood at the head of several diner tables pushed together. "This news couldn't wait until our next staff meeting. I thought everybody would want to know. Timaniel?"

The quieter, studious angel handed his daughter off to Demiel and replaced her at the head of the table. "Hi, everyone."

"Well, are we going belly up or what?" Bobby asked in his usual gruff tone. His gravelly voice rose in stark contrast to the sight of him holding two very happy fledglings on each leg.

"Belly up?" Squinting, Timaniel's head tilted.

"Fish tend to float belly up when they die," explained Castiel. "He's asking if the diner is going to die since this is an unusual meeting."

"Oh!" Timaniel said, rocking on his heels. "No, we're not going belly up."

"Good," said Bobby with a nod. "Got a garage to paint this summer."

He shuffled papers in his hands and rubbed palms together as if he had stunning news to deliver. The humans at the table couldn't see it but his feathers ruffled along the bones of his wings--a sure sign of excitement in any angel. That had Castiel thoroughly intrigued and even more hopeful for the future.

"On the contrary, Bobby, you've made a wise investment here," declared Timaniel, absolutely in his element with accounting, numbers, and order. "We called everyone here tonight to announce that Mary's Kitchen has turned the corner. In little over a year of operation, this will be the first projected quarter to show a profit rather than a loss. Construction bills have dropped off and steady customer flow has increased. That's right, everyone. The Dark Ages are over. We're making money now."

A collective gasp and immediate applause erupted from the nest. No one saw that coming since Timaniel thought it would take another year to gain more stable footing with their diner, but finally starting to make decent money came as an immense relief to all of them. Dean looked over at Castiel over the applause and cheers, both of them sharing quiet, private smiles. The relief in Dean's eyes meant more to Castiel than anything. He remembered the desperate prayer over the balcony a few weeks before when Dean regarded their lives as hopeless in the future. There, in Mary's Kitchen, hope filled his green eyes with warmth, and the sight of it drowned out the chaos of angels, fledglings, and human family around them.

Dean stood, slowly at first, but confidence grew as he got their attention. "We have an announcement too."

Silently, Castiel reached over and took Dean's hand.

"You guys know we had a big doctor appointment today," he continued. "Our surrogate had her pregnancy test." Huffing a strained sigh, he shook Castiel's hand at his side a bit as if trying to distract himself from a less than masculine emotional display. "The test came back positive. She's pregnant."

Renewed delightful happiness hit the pair like a wall. Sam rounded the table before anyone else could and grabbed up Dean in a tight bear hug, while Demiel and Bobby snatched Castiel simultaneously. James squished in the middle of it all as the remaining angels piled in around them until the entire family knotted around the newly expectant couple. Congratulations and questions came in a blur, leaving Dean and Castiel in quite a delirious daze.

They'd been there before, of course. Molly had gotten pregnant earlier in the year but lost the baby soon afterward. If they could get to the twelve week mark, the doctor said, the chances of miscarriage reduced dramatically.

But for the moment, Dean and Castiel soaked in a joyful night for once. They'd always have that.


	6. Chapter 6

Crawling across the floor proved quite easy for young William after his bout of pneumonia. Castiel smiled from the sofa as James and the little patient wrangled Bixby the kitten into a fortress built with colorful Legos.

"Did we really give up our Saturday to babysit?" Dean asked in a bored drone.

"The pneumonia could come back," replied Castiel.

"It’s been four days," he pointed out.

Toddling to the couch in a diaper and a t-shirt, James carefully placed a Lego creation that resembled a castle turret on wheels into Dean’s hands.

"What’s this?" Dean questioned.

"Guard, DD." The fledgling spoke pointedly for his young age and, though the words sounded padded by a toddler’s inexperience with speech, he certainly knew what he meant. "No one touch."

"Okay, I got it," vowed Dean with concealed laughter.

Hard, determined little eyes turned up to Castiel. “Daddy.” His feet shuffled on the carpeted living room floor. “Daddy, potty.”

"I got it. C’mon, Squirt," Dean offered as he pushed himself to his feet. He made sure to carry the prized Lego creation, not forgetting guard duty, and led James to the bathroom by the hand. Potty training was only a temporary necessity for fledglings, of course. Once their graces matured, they’d eliminate most bodily functions of their human vessels like eating and going to the bathroom.

Leaning into the foamy couch cushions, Castiel flipped the television in search of good, classic, American trash. The Kardashians were the most interesting to him (and he was convinced at least three demons rode those vessels) but in a tight spot, he settled for Dance Moms. It gave him an excuse to touch on very un-angelic anger as he watched the dance teacher screech at the children. She reminded him of Medusa and touching on the irritation she induced felt experimental, as if contemplating his budding parental urges. If the new baby on the way happened to be a girl, he knew he’d smite a dance teacher like that without looking back.

"Cas?"

Reluctantly, “Yes?”

When Dean didn’t answer, Castiel sighed and left the couch for the bathroom. William glanced absently but the kitten held a firm grip on his attention. As soon as Castiel hit the mouth of the hallway, his sharp vision spied a naked toddler bottom jiggling toward the bedroom.

"Dean?"

Seeing his husband leaning against the bathroom wall stopped Castiel in the doorway. Dean gazed down at his open hand, the one with the banged up wedding ring.

"What’s the matter?" Castiel kept his voice soft, sensing something amiss.

"Um… it’s… he’s…."

And then Castiel recognized the delicate, airy-soft treasures Dean cradled in his palm. Breath caught in his throat, not fear for himself or his fledgling, but fear for how that very human man would cope with such a foreign loss. Human fathers never had to grapple with such a thing and Castiel edged in closer, gently closing Dean’s fingers over his palm.

"It’s part of an angel growing up," he offered in an uncertain tone. "The first molting has arrived right on schedule. James is a healthy fledgling."

Faint and slouching a bit, Dean nodded. The green in his eyes seemed tired as he looked up from his closed hand to Castiel’s face. “Yeah,” he replied, “but this is the only molting I’ll ever get to see.” He snapped with his free hand. “Just like that. He’s turning two and it’s over. I’m losing part of my son and there ain’t a damn thing I can do to change it. He’s becoming more angel every day.”

A staggered silence wedged between them for a moment until Dean pushed off the wall and disappeared to the bedroom.

"Dean, wait."

Castiel followed him, but not before poking his head in the living room for a peek at William, who was such a well-behaved fledgling that he hardly made any noise at all. He left the toddler occupied with Bixby long enough to make sure Dean was okay, and to make sure James got a clean diaper.

He spotted James tugging a drawer open in his room. A plump little bottom rose to prominance as the toddler leaned inside and tugged his own diaper from the package neatly stowed in the dresser. It was obviously time to give him underwear full time if he knew enough to find his own diaper and be aware that he was supposed to wear one. It wasn’t the time for big boy lessons at that moment though. Rustling drew Castiel’s attention to the master bedroom.

"James," he said, "I’ll be back in a minute. Can you be a good boy?"

"Yes, Daddy." A shade of mature angelic immortality colored his simple response with the slightest monotone of Castiel’s early years stationed among humans.

Dean crouched on the closet floor digging through a blue plastic storage tub. The handful of feathers shed from one of James’ wing laid on top of their dresser, obviously with such great care that he knew Dean looked upon them like holy artifacts already. The angel tilted high over the human and drew back his own wings should they blot out the light. He didn’t want to intrude and knew Dean couldn’t be swayed when he set his mind to something, but he needed certainty that his husband was all right. The experience of seeing James begin to molt in the bathroom clearly proved traumatic, though Castiel didn’t quite feel the sudden sentimentality. He understood in an abstract way, of course, but still struggled to feel the same level of sentimental attachment to objects that humans felt.

"You know where the baby book is?" Dean asked, his voice muffled in the closet.

"Up there. I put it in the box with your mother’s photo album," replied Castiel as he rose a hand to the metal mesh shelf above their hanging clothes.

Without response, Dean jerked to his feet and retrieved the sacred box. James had a baby book that they’d both painstakingly put together during a particularly bad bout of respiratory illness when he was eight-months-old. They had little to do but wait, so Castiel had given Dean the book to keep his mind occupied.

Dean laid the book out on the dresser and, near the last empty pages, he pressed the shed baby soft white feathers into it. “Don’t judge me, Cas,” he muttered.

"I’m not," the angel assured. His hand fell along the back of Dean’s shoulder. "I think it’s a nice… sentimental… gesture."

Putting the feathers into James' baby book appeared to set Dean at ease and he didn't mention it again that night. By the time Mael arrived to collect her son after her diner shift, Dean had taken James to bed, seemingly in a much better state of mind. Castiel didn't go to bed for quite some time though. He was restless and not sleeping anyway would only lead to boredom in simply watching televsion while his husband and son slept. So, long into the night, he gave the two cuddling time alone and instead gave the kitchen a deep clean. It was much easier to keep their apartment in order without curious fledglings underfoot. The hypnotic motion of running a wet mop back and forth over the linoleum relaxed his mind and gave him a sense of clarity. Cleaning house wasn't unlike going into a meditative state.

Morning rose over the horizon just as Castiel finished alphabetizing the bookshelf. With the apartment looking like a spotless showroom again, Bixby the kitten wound his way around the furniture as if searching for toys or feet to entertain him. Castiel crouched on the floor and rubbed his belly with a smile. He truly enjoyed having a cat no matter how much Dean complained about needing routine allergy shots. Bixby also aided him quite efficiently in teaching James gentleness and to manage his inhuman strength.

Castiel left the black feline with a ball containing a bell and listened to the tink, tink, tink back and forth from the kitchen. He didn't cook very well--that was always Dean and Demiel's forte--but he knew enough of the basics to make breakfast. A couple of eggs soon popped and sizzled in a frying pan, and he knew the coffeemaker smell would draw Dean out of bed soon enough. For James, he liked yogurt and fruit better than heavy foods like eggs and bacon. He popped open a yogurt cup and poured it into a brightly colored plastic toddler bowl, and then mixed in blueberries and raspberries. Plain vanilla yogurt blended in well with the honey and crushed rose petals meant to nourish his boy's developing grace.

Just as he expected, muffled voices in the bedroom alerted him to Dean and James waking for the day. He set the table for them and followed their voices down the hall, but as soon as he heard what they were talking about, he stopped and listened.

"Itchy, DD."

The angel tilted forward enough to peek into the bedroom. James sat on his side of the bed with his arm raised and his head curled downward like he wanted a closer look at the underside of his right wing. As the fledgling scratched with the opposite hand, feathers snowed over the bed across Dean's half of the blanket.

Dean sat up and, rubbing his eyes, pushed the blanket off his legs and examined the wing with his son. "Yeah, I bet it itches," he said sympathetically. "Daddy says you're molting. It's gonna be okay, Bug."

"Molding?"

"Molting," corrected Dean. "Your feathers will come off so new ones can grow. It's gonna happen to your cousins too."

"Itchy," James said again with a wrinkled nose and an unspoken request in his eyes.

Hesitation creased Dean's brow and Castiel felt his struggle with hiding the emotions of loss. They'd agreed not to say too much that James might not understand yet, such as Dean no longer being able to see the next stages of angelic maturity as the fledgling grew a new layer of feathers. The sentimentality clouded Dean's eyes again just as it had the night before when he put a handful of shed baby feathers into the baby book. He scooted closer and an open palm skimmed over the upper curve of James' wing so carefully as if he expected it to hurt.

"No, DD. Itchy here." Insistently, James grabbed his father's hand and directed it to the bald spot around the underside.

Of course, Dean couldn't see it but new feathers began to appear already overnight. They weren't the pearly white innocent feathers carried by all fledglings. First hints of James' individuality came through with the emerging condition of those wings. A strange emotional flood swirled in Castiel's chest of both pride and sorrow in watching his fledgling mature right in front of his eyes.

All angels, when living on Earth, unconsciously copied birdlike characteristics in their wings. Castiel's wings had always been the blackest of black like a raven, while Hetanel had brown wings tinted with a rusty shade. The twins, Hael and Mael, appeared vastly different in their vessels but each had possessed the feathers of peacocks until Hael became human. Timaniel's wings reflected a simple silvery-gray color like his personality, which lacked any sense of fuss or drama. On the other hand, Demiel's wings resembled a golden oriole with black framing bright pops of yellow, matching a personality that could be both calm and collected but full of fire and brimstone too.

But James--his subconscious copied a bird book they often looked at together to give him a jump start on learning colors. The new feathers growing in took after Castiel in their dark iridescence, yet individual to James by being far bluer, edging on dark teal. The fledgling's inner self chose to model his wings on an African bird called a Cape starling. Only a small patch of downy new feathers came in overnight and a great deal of flesh remained exposed as the fledgling feathers fell out, but it was enough to show Castiel so much about his little one.

"You're just growing into a big boy," Dean said as he rubbed the wing.

Bright green eyes peered at him under messy dark hair. "I be girl too."

"Or a girl," he acknowledged with a nod. "Whatever makes you happy. Daddy's had girl bodies sometimes. It was a long time ago though."

"I like mah bod-ee," James decided with his little hands hugging his chest.

With a grin, Dean grabbed James by the ankle and teasingly bodyslammed him on the mattress. "I like it too," he agreed, tickling the fledgling into shrieks and giggles.

*****

Across town that Sunday morning, Sam crawled under the kitchen sink in the apartment he shared with Demiel and her fledglings, Noah and Evelyn. That sink clogged at least once a month, if not more, and he began considering the arduous task of replacing the kitchen plumbing. It was to be expected. The building dated back to the 1880s, but that didn't make it any less laborious.

A pair of sparkling eyes observed him. Evelyn sat on her knees in a sleeveless spring dress fashioned to look like a watermelon and watched everything Sam did. She loved her dresses and princess costumes, but she found Sam's mechanic work on his car or his household repairs endlessly fascinating too.

"Okay, Miss Assistant, lemme have that one." Sam pointed to a wrench in his open toolbox. Letting Evelyn give him tools became their tradition.

Evelyn eagerly scooted over the toolbox and hoisted the wrench with both hands. She struggled with its weight but lugged it over to Sam with a wide, prideful smile. Around the kitchen island, Noah peeked at them but he didn't want to be seen. Sam gave that fledgling his space as much as possible, having remained so attached to his mother and wary of the overgrown human. They all said he'd come around in time, that he'd see Sam as his father, but Sam didn't understand why it was so easy with Evelyn and not Noah. Perhaps because he'd taken care of Evelyn from day one during her original mother's illnesses. She still looked a lot like Hael but a few last-minute imprints brought Sam's features into her hair and face.

"Sam...." began Noah shyly.

He raised up in the cabinet under the sink. "Yeah, buddy?"

"Kin I hab apple dooce?"

"Sure." With a smile, Sam slid out from under the sink and, giving his tools back to his little assistant, rose off the floor.

Noah rarely asked him for anything. He didn't speak much, actually, and seemed far more sensitive and less developed than the other fledglings. Demiel worried that his little vessel came with a speech impediment but they decided to give it time to right itself. Some children, they read, developed speech at much slower rates and they felt it was important to let Noah grow up on his own time. Comparing him to the other little ones too much could make him feel bad about himself as he got older. No one knew better than Sam about the pressure parents put on their kids to be like their other siblings or their cousins.

A sippy cup filled with watered down apple juice got handed down to Noah, who offered a lopsided smile as a thank you.

"Want some juice too, Evy?" he asked.

"Yeah, Daddy," she answered, deep into reorganizing his toolbox. Reorganizing was a very loose term when it came to a two-year-old.

Sam still wasn't used to being called Daddy but the warm ball in his chest reminded him that he really did want Demiel and those fledglings. He moved in with his girlfriend feeling like they were her kids, but as he filled a second sippy cup with watered down apple juice and looked at the tools scattered over the kitchen floor, he knew life led him to the right place. The thought rolled around his head again, as it had for about a week--he was ready to get married. No one knew, of course, but he was ready and he guaranteed it stunned no one more than himself. A wife and kids were never part of his life's framework after Jess died but the urges to go buy a ring and plan out a proposal occupied his mind more and more. Demiel wasn't the fluffy sort, and neither was he, but they had their serious romance novel moments in private. He could pull it off if he grew some balls.

The apartment door swung open and shut urgently as Demiel came home with breakfast donuts and a handful of mail. "I can't believe it."

"Hi, babydoll," Sam greeted, amused, as he leaned over the island to kiss her.

Demiel dropped the donut box and most of the mail on the counter but distressed eyes scanned a letter in her hand. "She's really coming, Sam. I thought it was just empty promises. You know how she is. She says one thing but flits off on the whim of that romantic idea of being an artist."

"You mean H-a-e-l?" He spelled out the name rather than allow Evelyn to hear them talking about her original mother.

"Yeah," Demiel replied, unsettled.

Noah grabbed at her leg. "Mommy, up!"

"Hi, baby," she said as she lifted him up on her hip, but gave her attention back to the letter in the next second. She sighed into Noah's hair and her eyes fell to Evelyn playing with tools on the kitchen floor. "I'm scared of her coming back to Sioux Falls. The child is ours now--" she avoided calling Evelyn by her name, "--and I'm not giving her back. Children like ours need the quiet of South Dakota, not the congestion of humanity in Chicago. Why now, when they're turning two?"

Sam rounded the kitchen island and pulled Demiel, carrying Noah, close to his chest. "I think she wants to prove to everyone that she's making it on her own. It's probably just a little visit. Don't worry."

Silence fell for a time as Noah obliviously slurped on his sippy cup. Then Demiel's voice turned timid as she asked, "Do you still want her?"

"No!" he blurted. "No, no, no. I'm happy here with you and the kids. We've got a good thing going here with the diner and rehabbing our apartment and everything. This is a good life. I'm not running off with her."

"She can't stay here," Demiel said firmly. "She can stay with her father. Bobby's been taking care of her for almost two years and he can keep taking care of her now. I try, Sam--I try to keep my mind and heart peaceful, you know? We made peace before she went to that mental facility in Chicago and I know being forced to fall from Heaven nearly destroys angels. I feel so guilty for being jealous that you wanted her first and that everybody always fawned over her." A trembling sigh left her body. "I'm not a hateful angel but I just have this ... this bad feeling."

"You're the most compassionate one I know," assured Sam, tipping her face up to his with fingers under her chin. "It took a lot to set aside your animosity to make peace and agree to raise her fledgling. If you have a bad feeling, I believe you."

Demiel's tension bled away and she let go of a tight breath. "Thank you, Sam." Her face nestled against his chest once again.


	7. Chapter 7

Wrestling a load of shopping bags, keeping an eye on James, and searching for keys in his pockets made Castiel appreciate the human ability to multitask all over again. Once he unlocked the apartment, he hustled James inside before the boy took off like he tended to do, and he dumped the shopping bags on the dining table off to the right. An open floorplan in the front half of the apartment certainly came in handy in those moments.

James scurried to the couch and jumped expectantly on the cushions. "Moobie, Daddy! Pway the moobie!"

"Only if you ask me the right way," replied Castiel. A steady spread of birthday party supplies stocked the pantry as he unloaded the bags. "What do you say?"

"Pwease, may I pway the moobie?"

"That's better. Good job. Sit still, now, before you fall off the couch."

Castiel crossed into the living room with the new DVD and ripped open the cellophane. He came across a sequel to The Little Mermaid on the shopping trip and decided a new cartoon would keep James occupied enough for the afternoon to let him attend to birthday party matters. He noticed a wad of filthy denim on the carpet with a pair of black boxer-briefs discarded a few feet away, headed toward the hallway. It drew his attention to the steady white noise of the shower just kicking on in the bathroom.

Quickly, he set up James with his movie and made sure the toddler was thoroughly engrossed before he collected hastily discarded articles of clothing along a trail to the running shower. He found Dean's silhouette in the shower curtain with arms raised and hands thoroughly shampooing his hair. Low, melodic humming resounded off the tiled walls.

"Dean," he said as he flipped the hamper lid open and dropped in the dirty clothes, "you could at least pretend to pick up your laundry."

"Hey, babe!" called Dean over the running water, ignoring his request.

Castiel closed the hamper and sat on the sturdy wicker construction. He leaned back on the wall. His wings relaxed for the first time all day, sloping onto the cool bathroom floor like cascading iridescent black water. A slow, deep breath passed through his body, pleased to enjoy the still moment, yet always keeping one ear trained on James' activity in the living room.

"You sound unusually happy," Castiel observed.

A head full of shampoo poked out around the shower curtain. "I got a call from the loan guy this morning."

That got Castiel's attention and he cocked his head. "And?"

"The diner turning a profit pushed us over the loan requirement. Blah, blah, blah. Numbers and stuff. Long story short, we got the home loan." Dean disappeared into the shower again and launched into a raunchy rendition of a Zeppelin song. The way he sang anything was the best way to gauge his mood. He was serious.

"What?"

"You heard me." Just as Castiel stood again, Dean's hand reached out and snatched his wrist. "Get in here, you."

"I'm still dressed." Stifled, anxious laughter followed as Castiel tried to shuck his clothes before Dean dragged him into the steaming shower. They'd gotten quite good at stealing moments for themselves in the two years since having James. Debating about whether they should have private moments always wasted time and deprived them of each other anyway, so they both learned to follow the other's lead when the mood struck. "We don't have long. It's a short movie," murmured Castiel, openly taking in the sight of water running down the plains and edges of Dean's naked body. The urge surfaced immediately as if his own body sensed the pressing needs of parenthood on top of marriage.

"You better use that mojo and shut the door," Dean replied darkly.

Thinly smiling, Castiel raised a hand there in the shower but the front door to the apartment jiggled. The mood broke in a heartbeat, and rather confused, Dean's brow furrowed as he turned and listened.

"Hey, buddy!"

"Uncle Sammy!" A tiny, muffled thump and trotting toddler legs flew across the floor.

Dean sighed, irritated and deflated. "Son of a bitch."

"He has a key," Castiel replied with a tender smile. He drew Dean in by the hand. "I'll go. Finish your shower." To soften the loss of their moment, his hand cradled Dean's cheek and their lips met for an intimate, lingering kiss.

"Later," whispered Dean.

"Later," Castiel agreed in the same whisper.

It only took a moment for Castiel to dry off and put his clothes back on having not been in the shower but a few precious moments. Dean resumed humming his raunchy song, suggesting that his upbeat mood still remained as he soaped up again.

Coming into the living room, he found Sam carrying James on one arm and discussing the importance of a good crab for a best friend. "Hello, Sam," he greeted. Suddenly he wondered if it was too obvious that he'd been caught red-handed about to be up to no good with Dean, and then his smile turned a bit sheepish. He knew it too and that made him even more self-conscious, a sensation utterly foreign to angels but developed by living among humans that long.

"Oh good, you're here," Sam replied.

His brow arched. "Of course. James doesn't spend time alone."

"No, I know. I just...." Flustered, Sam glanced at the toddler on his arm. "Is, um, Dean's here too, right?"

"Yes. He's in the shower. Are you all right, Sam?"

The younger Winchester's presence only grew more rattled. He lowered James to the floor with quiet urgings to watch the movie while he spoke to Daddy and DD in the kitchen, which James all too readily obeyed. Children always did obey the fun relatives, Castiel noticed, whether they were angels or humans.

Together they drifted into the kitchen and Castiel put on a pot of coffee. He and Sam frequently met for coffee since their friendship really solidified as an independent bond from the ones they each shared with Dean. It didn't particularly alarm him that Sam appeared on his doorstep unannounced but his odd, shuffling nervousness bled into the rest of the house. All sorts of ideas flooded Castiel's mind from rogue angels returning to kill them despite Gabriel's restructuring of Heaven to one of the fledglings in his home falling ill.

"Dean said we were approved for the home loan today," he said in an effort to generate conversation.

"Oh, that's great." Sam nodded but he didn't seem present. "How's your surrogate?"

"She's doing well so far. We're almost to the safer threshold of human gestation. Then we'll tell James what's happening, I think."

"That's great," Sam repeated.

Castiel's brows knitted together. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Where's Dean?"

"He's coming. I said that."

"Yeah." Nodding, Sam sighed. He stuck a forceful hand into his pocket and produced a small square box made of deep green leather. It looked antique, Castiel noted absently as Sam slammed the box on the bar counter and braced his hands wide for support. "I'm gonna do it, Cas. You guys gotta help me figure out when and stuff. But I ... I'm really gonna do it."

"Do ... it?"

Sam glanced up from his anxiety to see that Castiel didn't quite grasp it, even though Castiel felt like it was something he should have understood. "I'm proposing. Marriage. To Demmie." He grabbed the box and cracked open the lid to display the ring sitting in the velvet slot. "See?"

At that moment, Dean strutted down the hall wearing fresh clothes and sloppy, wet hair and a trimmed beard blending browns and a faint hint of red. "I knew it!" he shouted in mocking jealousy. "The second I turn my back, my brother's making moves on my baby daddy." Laughing, he slapped his brother's shoulder and slid past Castiel for the enticing aroma of hot coffee. "You get any creamer, Cas?"

"In the door of the refrigerator," he muttered, wondering if Dean even recognized what he saw.

Sam eyed him too. He put the ring on the counter again and waited as if he expected it to dawn on Dean without being told. Castiel leaned over and stole a look at the sparkling treasure, which appeared to be from the late 1920s if his senses were still sharp. It certainly looked like Demiel, both feminine yet practical, with a filigree white gold banned topped with a European cut diamond no bigger than half a carat set in a square decorative frame. Sam certainly knew her, it seemed. She could wear it at the diner and with their fledglings without snagging it on food or clothes. Castiel sensed that it had been given to a young lady on the eve of her eighteenth birthday somewhere around 1926. He peered at Sam and wondered at how many antique stores the man must have visited to find something right for Demiel.

In fact, Sam's expression turned exacerbated the longer Dean obliviously puttered around the kitchen. "Dean?" he said, his hands turned up.

"What?"

"Did it ever occur to you why I'm carrying around a ring?"

"No, I--Oh, shit." Dean spun on his heels, wide-eyed and ready to drop the jug of coffee creamer.

*****

Six high chairs in a circle surrounded a cake bigger than two or three of the babies put together. Ocean blue icing displayed fondant dough molded into seashell shapes, all of which complimented the undersea decorations throughout Mary’s Kitchen. The fledgling nest collectively celebrated their second birthdays even though each of them were created on different days.

"Hey, hey! Over here!" Hetanel, clutching a digital camera, did his best to get a picture of the two-year-old fledglings that looked somewhat uniform. He snapped his fingers over his head while Mael hopped around behind him making silly faces to hold their attention.

Bobby's gravelly voice laughed among the party guests. "Boy, you're never gonna get six kids to smile all nice-like for a picture at the same time."

"I can try!" Hetanel grinned as he snapped several pictures in rapid succession. "Look at my girl. She's gonna be such a great person." Of all the angels, Hetanel surprisingly turned out to be the most sentimental about the little ones having their second birthday. He clearly intended to document every moment of it, especially his daughter, Katrina, wearing a cute little white dress with a violet sash tied into a bow around her waist.

The party turned out to be a rousing success despite a few worries from Timaniel and Dean that having the entire nest clumped together in one place among human guests might arouse suspicions. Their family certainly did look odd together but Castiel had come up with a story early on about how they were all adopted by a religious couple and some of them, in turn, adopted children of their own. Indeed, it was odd, but the human capacity to overlook the strange in favor of the wonderful never failed to amuse him. Humans, at their heart, much preferred investing in the good side of people and that sometimes pushed them into ignoring the bad.

Demiel thought it would be good for community bonding to invite people from their neighborhoods who had young children. It caused a bit of friction, but in the end, she won with the point that their fledglings weren't going to immerse in human society unless they socialized more.

As Dean lit the birthday candles on the cake, everyone gathered around the fledglings and began to sing. Children laughed and played beneath the chorus of Happy Birthday. Castiel made sure to snap a few pictures of James in his high chair, laughing and utterly bewildered by all the attention. All of the fledglings appeared in good moods that day, thankfully, but he knew naptime would soon bring out crankiness and sporadic tantrums. When the little ones went upstairs to Demiel's and Sam's apartment for their naps, the adults intended to enjoy a few late afternoon cocktails.

Applause erupted at the end of the birthday serenade. Each angel leaned over their fledgling and, on the count of three, helped the little ones blow out their candles. The applause pulsed into a louder bout as the last flame went up in a puff of smoke.

"Happy birthday, Squirt," Dean intimated to his child. He kissed James' cheek and ruffled his dark hair.

The toddler lifted two little fingers with a toothy grin. "DD, I'm dis many."

Castiel bent, kissing James' other cheek. "I love you, Bug."

"Lob you, Daddy," the boy replied, though he seemed more interested in cake.

Sweeping in like the great pastry chef of South Dakota, Demiel cut up the cake and passed it out among party guests. Toddlers making messes of ocean blue frosting smeared all over their faces and high chairs inspired scattered awws around the diner. People drifted, mingled, and sipped from ocean-themed glasses and ate from ocean-themed plates.

"He hasn't done it yet," Dean mumbled quietly to Castiel. "What gives? It's been, what, five days?"

"I'm sure he's waiting for the right moment," replied Castiel with a discreet look at Demiel's bare left hand.

"There is no right moment. A guy's just gotta do it when he knows he wants it."

The angel regarded his hunter husband with a light smile. "Is that why you did it on the breezeway stairwell at the apartment? Hardly something one would see in a romantic movie."

"I just wanted you and our kid," Dean admitted honestly. "I didn't care how."

Switching his plate from one hand to the other, Castiel snaked an arm around Dean's lower waist with a careful public display of affection that was close but not too much for his husband's comfort. "You always had us," he said even quieter. "You always will."

Dean offered a subtle smile. "Glad Sammy has that feeling now too. Or he will."

"I'll talk to him. I was the one who received the proposal. I may be able to offer some advice to prevent him from wasting too much time on anxiety." It sounded like something one friend would do for another and Castiel enjoyed being a good friend without strings attached, like a pending apocalypse or the loss of a soul.

"Hey," Bobby said, edging his way in the conversation. "Whatdya think of the girlfriend? You boys checked her out, right?"

The old man gestured to a lady Hetanel brought to the party and introduced as the woman he was seeing. She seemed shy and reserved, yet her tight black pants and spiked-heel boots suggested something more fiery in her personality. Hetanel regularly dated, so no one expected her to last long because the others never did, but Dean and Sam made a habit of testing each girl without her knowing it for signs of an inhuman creature.

"Not mommy material," observed Dean. "She won't last."

"Hetanel searches for potential mates in the wrong places. He met this one in a nightclub in Rapid City," Castiel added.

"Haven't we all been there." Laughter muffled by Dean's punch glass reminded Castiel of his wilder days--a memory that he set aside.

"Yeah." Bobby nodded, eyeing the woman across the room. "You guys finally got a normal life. No hunter gets that kind of happy ending. Invitin' outsiders into the nest makes me nervous. It's a vulnerable spot. More you angels get used to livin' here, more likely it is you're gonna make friends and date, but I'm thinkin' not all of you got the street smarts to look for bad apples."

Dean grunted and nodded his agreement.

The subject changed swiftly. "I thought Gabriel was comin'?"

"So did I," replied Castiel.

"He could still show," Dean said without optimism.

"Maybe something's goin' on," suggested Bobby in a darker tone.

A lighthearted smile brightened Dean's face and he clapped a strong hand around his surrogate father's shoulder. "Relax, old man. Have more cake and check out the single moms. We got plenty of 'em here today."

Surprisingly, Bobby laughed and agreed instead of barking at Dean. Having grandchildren seemed to have tamed him somewhat, though he still groused and bossed people around quite a bit. When it came to stopping and enjoying family more often, though, his willingness continued to surprise Castiel. Perhaps the years of hunting demons to avenge his wife's murder had taken their toll and he regretted not having a biological family. Castiel didn't know for sure but he did know Bobby's role as grandfather to those six fledglings gave him a new purpose in the past two years.

The birthday party carried on into the afternoon with happy laughter, food at every turn, and toddlers playing throughout the diner in pretty party dresses and little suits. Dean made a point to exchange a few words with everyone, not because he was a particularly social man, but because the hunter in him never quit searching for the next threat. Castiel never tried to stop him. It was a waste of time and misguided since Dean's motivation lied in protecting the nest as a whole.

Putting on such a big and bustling birthday party was hard enough for the family and Castiel couldn't imagine being a single parent trying to do it. Although most of the nest avoided romantic attachments, at least they had each other to rely on and that provided a safety net that he knew didn't exist for everyone.

He carried armloads of dirty dishes back to the kitchen, realizing that he hadn't really even had time to reflect on his boy reaching his second birthday. James was two and growing like a weed. New mature feathers grew in every day, robbing Dean little by little of seeing his wings. The fledgling was quiet and sensitive, needing cuddles and love more often than other fledglings, yet his quick bursts of independence hinted at a mature angel later on that would do great things. Would he be a teacher? A healer? Certainly not a soldier. Castiel knew he'd support James' choices, of course, but he secretly hoped his son would avoid the life of duty that brainwashed and damaged so many other angels.

"Oh, thank you," Demiel said in a rush, sweeping into the kitchen with more dirty dishes. She never seemed to stand still since she opened the diner. "Are you enjoying the party, brother?"

"I am," he replied. "Are you?"

She popped a shrimp in her mouth. "I'll enjoy the photos later."

That didn't sit well with him. "Demmie, Demmie, wait." Castiel grabbed her forearm. "I want you to breathe."

She scoffed and tilted her head. "What?"

"You're always on the move. You're missing the beauty of life," Castiel said in a concerned, brotherly manner. "Our fledglings are two-years-old today. Two. Soon they'll be going to school and before you know it, they'll be starting on their life purposes. I don't want you to look back and realize you were entirely too focused on the wrong things. This party is beautiful and everyone is enjoying themselves." He took her hand between both of his and tried to connect with her better. "Go out there and snuggle your fledglings. Dance with Sam. He loves you so much, you know."

"Does he?" A little hopeful smile stopped her protests. Her voice came out small and a bit uncertain.

"I know he does," Castiel assured. "Take my advice, sister. Don't forget to breathe once in a while. Go on. Go out there and be with your family. Everybody else is fine."

Arm in arm, Castiel and Demiel strolled from the kitchen back to the main dining room. A clump of people near the front of the diner caught their attention, followed up with boisterous celebrations. Bobby's back came into view as a few guests moved for a different vantage, offering Castiel and Demiel a glimpse of the old man hugging a lady.

"Who is that?" asked Castiel, eyes narrowed.

Dean smiled with James in his arms but Sam--he stood at some distance observing in silence, though he obviously couldn't see Bobby through the commotion of human traffic. Thin lines appeared between his eyes. He clutched his little Evelyn, facing forward, yet entirely within his grip. Castiel studied Demiel as she, in turn, studied Sam. Watching him clearly told her what she needed to know without a word and her rich Puerto Rican complexion paled.

"Hael," she whispered. "It's Hael."

"Oh...." Castiel didn't know what to say but he allowed Demiel to dig her nails into his arm as if trying to hide her anxiety. "Are you sure? It doesn't look like Hael."

The lady happily hugging Bobby let go and backed up, regarding the man who had adopted her as his own daughter. She'd chopped off all of her pale red hair into a pixie cut that swept in long pieces around the side of her face. Purple and blue dyed the ends of her hair and she wore a black shirt with a pair of dark skinny jeans. Perhaps recalling the wings she once possessed, feathery turquoise earrings dangled along her slender throat. She spoke so confidently to Bobby and the other angels and party goers that no one would have guessed she was just a year out of a psychiatric hospital in Chicago. Once the hospital released her a year before, after a six month stay, she enrolled in art school having never once visited home. There she stood, though, choosing to steal the thunder of the fledglings' second birthdays.

Beside him, Demiel's spine went stiff and she tossed back her shoulders. "All right. Let's go say hello." She pained a gentle smile on her features as if she had to talk herself into greeting Hael at all.

Castiel let his sister lead the way, still arm in arm, sensing the need to remain by her side. Although Demiel and Hael parted on good terms after making peace, he suspected the timing frightened the angel beside him who raised Hael's fledgling, Evelyn, as her own. Even if Hael appeared stable, the arrangement was permanent and he intended to back Demiel should any custody issues arise.

"Hello, Hael," she said sweetly, joining the crowd.

Shrieking exuberantly, Hael hopped on her feet and flung her arms around Demiel's neck. "Demmie! How are you?"

"I-I'm quite well. Thank you. How are you doing?" Demiel stammered.  
"Not bad. Not bad at all. Looking forward to my break from school."

"I imagine so," replied Demiel through her painted on smile. "My, my, you look so ... different. All of your hair is gone."

"And it's blue and purple. Isn't it fun?" She laughed as if quite accustomed to the uncertain reaction her rebellious appearance provoked in more conservative people. Turning to Castiel, her eyes softened in the sort of calm reserved for an elder brother who, quite literally, pulled her from the fire of death. "Hi, Cas. You look great. Marriage suits you, I think."

He embraced Hael and kissed her cheek. "Hello, little sister." It wasn't until he leaned into her that he noticed the man standing just over her shoulder wearing a quiet, observant expression. "And who is this?"

Silently, Demiel's gaze shifted toward the stranger with the question.

"Oh, right! Guys, this is my boyfriend, Jeremy." A brightness shone through Hael as she leaned back into the man and looped her arms around his waist. She smiled up at him and he down at her.

"Good to meet you," said Jeremy. "Hael talks about you all the time."

"She's never mentioned you." Perhaps it was a dig on her part but Demiel's smile shifted to that of a satisfied grin. She resembled a woman realizing that a former threat to her own relationship no longer existed.

"Pleased to know you, boy," Bobby said with an outstretched hand, relishing in being a father, it seemed. "You better be treatin' my girl right. I've got a .45, a shovel, and a lot of protective boys in the family. You just remember that."

"Dad!" Hael's eyes went wide and she laughed through exasperation.

There was something in Jeremy's demeanor that Castiel studied quietly while he acquainted himself with Hael's family. He seemed at ease. He seemed to know them far better than they knew him, even calling Dean by name before they were properly introduced. Perhaps Hael did indeed talk about the family at length but Castiel had long since realized breaking away and not visiting home in a year and a half meant she desired her firm human identity. Talking incessantly about her angel family, even if people didn't know they were angels, seemed to negate that purpose. Still, they touched each other even when they found themselves engrossed in conversation with different people. She still hadn't asked about Sam even though he lingered throughout the party and she'd certainly seen him. The relationship with Jeremy appeared solid. Castiel wondered if he was being too critical, too suspicious.

In time, Hael and Jeremy made a socializing loop around the party, hands linked, and silent communicative glances when no one else saw them. Castiel saw though. He observed from a distance as the angel nest melted into the party guests, looking like any other family. Perhaps he should learn to accept the blessing that he succeeded at teaching his nest to blend in with human society. Some of them still stood out with odd, stiff behavior at times, but Sioux Falls people truly did accept the family among other local business owners in the county. Demiel had some influence with female entrepreneurs, something Castiel never expected to see.

Looking back to Jeremy's back turned in conversation with one of Bobby's neighbors, Castiel sipped fruit punch across the room. Jeremy looked nothing like Sam, not that she ever truly loved the younger Winchester brother. He didn't even reach Castiel's height. Ashen blonde hair topped his square head, making him look a bit like a Marine. In fact, Castiel wondered if military history existed in his past. That would account for his quiet, direct manner. Jeremy's shoulders never slouched even when he bent over a table to choose a slice of cake for himself and for Hael, something that Castiel couldn't help but wonder at since even the most disciplined men sometimes slouched. His shoulders remained even and aligned no matter how he moved as if he carried something on his back.

"I'm gonna start taking the kids upstairs to nap," Sam said, appearing at Castiel's side. Evelyn slumbered in his arms despite the noise and he swayed gently.

"I'll help you," offered Castiel.

Sam nodded. "Thanks." He stole a glance in Hael's direction but had made no effort to greet her since she arrived.

"Are you okay?" Castiel questioned in a discreet tone.

"She's different," he commented quietly.

"She is," the angel agreed.

"It's ... weird." As if waking from a bad dream, Sam shook himself slightly and dipped his head down to kiss Evelyn's hair. "I don't wanna upset Demmie. I'll say hi to Hael another time. Demmie and the kids are my priorities now."

Castiel offered a sympathetic nod. "I'm sure Demmie appreciates your respect for this family you're building."

"I hope so. I should've proposed days ago," Sam confided.

"Are you nervous then?"

"Yep." That was all he said. Swiftly, he changed the subject and began directing Castiel in helping him carry the fledglings upstairs to the apartment for their naps.

*****

In the privacy of their bedroom, James sat against his parents’ bed pillows wearing new pajamas decorated with the bat signal. Of course. Every Batman movie in existence stood on the living room DVD shelf and Dean nearly shrieked like a teenage girl when he found toddler pajamas reflecting his interest. Or obsession. Whichever term best fit the Winchester love affair with Batman.

"Check this out, Squirt," said Dean as he crawled onto the bed with a rectangular box wrapped in blue paper. "You got one more birthday present."

"Dean, you spoil him," Castiel said. "He already got enough toys today to last until he begins going to school."

"I spoil him, says the guy who bought him a kitten for Christmas. You only turn two once. This is just from me to my boy." He returned James' toothy grin and plopped the box on his lap. "Open it."

James, having floppy wet dark hair in his eyes after his bath, grinned like he found real treasure as he tore into the paper. It was the first holiday where he actually understood opening presents, which Dean seemed to enjoy just as much. The child's small hands struggled with a bit of tape holding the white box closed, so Dean leaned over and popped the seal for him. Without much care for things that might break, James flipped over the box and a car tumbled out onto the bed along with some sort of pendant on a leather tie.

"Look, just like DD's car," Dean said as he turned over the replica black Impala.

"Ohh, car!" cried James excitedly, immediately making engine noises as he drove it over pillow mountains and mattress plains.

Castiel abandoned the laundry basket and sat on the opposite end of the bed. Watching his son play with a well-crafted metal replica of a 1967 Chevy Impala nearly as long as his toddler leg gave Dean the sort of quiet pride that Castiel memorized with just as much joy. He plucked the pendant from the sheets and showed it to James with a simple explanation that a child could understand.

"See this? It says your name in Daddy's language."

Astonished, Castiel's head tilted with that unexpected gift. "What?"

James let the silver coin-shaped pendant dangle from his hand as he examined it. Despite his young age, he sometimes understood important moments like that and behaved quite like a little man.

"I asked around how to spell out James' name in Enochian. It's got that bird on the other side. The one you said he's mimicking with his new wing growth," Dean explained to Castiel.

"The Cape glossy starling," he said with a slow smile.

"Yeah, that." A slow smile spread over Dean's mouth as well. "I can't really see much of his wings anymore but that'll remind me they're still there. He can wear it when he gets older if he wants."

As they talked, James struck up a growling rumble in his throat to mimic the sound of his father's car. He drove it along Dean's leg, making the hunter laugh.

"Did you have a cool birthday, Squirt?"

"Cool!" chirped James with a nod.


	8. Chapter 8

One of Demiel's most endearing qualities was the way she went through the routine of going to bed with Sam every night even though she never slept. He wondered absently if the other angels had similar arrangements with their human mates, or would when they found them. Demiel even had a taste for buying bedclothes, as she called nightgowns and pajamas, but they were entirely unnecessary for her species. It seemed that she just wanted to be part of his routines.

That night, however, Demiel curled into the fleshy, toned edges of Sam's naked body and closed her eyes, silent and contemplative. He twisted a piece of loose hair behind her ear and studied her profile in the dark. Lying back to chest gave him a unique opportunity to slide his other arm beneath her body and around her smooth abdomen. It took months to get her comfortable with being held at night but that was a long time ago. She remained entirely relaxed, an extension of his body, and it appeared like they'd always been together. It got easier once the twins began sleeping through the night as tiny little babies. She wasn't so on edge and listening every second for the slightest sound from either fledgling's bedroom. The baby monitors told them everything they needed to know.

"So you wanna tell me what's going on?" Sam whispered.

Her voice came out breathy and fatigued. "What do you mean?"

"Every night this week...." Six nights paraded by in a blur of putting the twins to bed and then lovemaking that bordered on bewitching and possessive on her part. She had indeed developed a healthy appetite for sex since they took their relationship to that stage, yet the sudden shift in her habits combined with Hael's arrival weren't lost on him.

Silence answered him for a moment until her voice hardened just slightly. "You're honestly complaining about too much intercourse?"

"No, not at all." Sam treaded carefully as he nudged her to roll over and face him. "It's not the amount or even the intensity you're showing now. Trust me--I love a good strong throwdown. I can keep up with you like this, no problem, but I'm worried about why you're changing on me."

Demiel shrugged, keeping her dark eyes lowered to his bare chest. "I don't know."

"Are you bored?" he probed.

"No," she replied.

"Are you ... wanting to have another baby?"

She hesitated. "Maybe."

"Okay." Sam filed that one away for a later discussion. His real question required that buildup, fully aware of her true insecurity. "Are you afraid I'm gonna pack up and leave?"

Demiel's eyes flashed up to his face. He spotted the reflection of the bathroom nightlight in her pupils. Though she didn't say a word, the loose grip she had on his bicep tightened so abruptly that her nails scratched at his skin. He'd hit the nail on the head, not that he expected any different reason for her sudden possessive behavior. The trick was getting her to talk about it so they could work through that bump in the road.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised with fingers sliding through her hair.

"Logically I know that," she admitted.

"I've only seen Hael once in six days. There's nothing in me that wants to go down that road again. I'm that kind of guy. Once I'm done, I'm really done."

She wriggled closer and puffed a sigh into his skin. Her shoulders relaxed as Sam lazily played with her hair. Those things probably should have been spelled out before. In fact, he had repeated it to everyone except the one person who needed to hear it the most. Under the blanket, Demiel hiked up her leg over his slender hips and bound them in a tangled ball, even sharing the same pillow. They shared a life together above all--a life that he never wanted to let go.

"My kind--we're not very adept at reading human subtlety. We often need things spelled out clearly," she said into his shoulder, seemingly feeling the need to explain her behavior.

A sleepy grin formed on Sam's lips. "I'll try to remember that."

"Good," she replied.

The silence drifting over them soon lulled Sam into the hazy land between sleep and consciousness. He pulled the comforter over Demiel's exposed skin with his remaining strength before allowing the silence and heavy bliss of sleep to overtake him. No one knew the meaning of exhaustion until they had twin toddlers, especially when those toddlers happened to be angels. Trailing thoughts swirled in fragments. Errand lists, grocery lists, plans for the hardware store, and blank spots plugged up with Evelyn's face and Noah's face filled his mind, yet sent him deeper into unconsciousness like a strange parenthood lullaby. It helped that the silky warm fleshiness weighing sweetly in his arms indulged him by remaining there in bed each night until he was so far asleep that he wouldn't feel her leave.

"You don't have to stay," he mumbled, sleepy and slurred.

"I want to," she whispered.

Sam smiled to himself--or maybe he only dreamed it in the borderland between worlds.

Raising up, she peered down at him. "What?"

"Hmm?"

"You mumbled something."

He peeled open one eye. "I did?"

"Yes. It sounded like marry me."

Had he said it in his sleep? Sam certainly felt himself jerked awake in that moment, though, and tried pushing himself up a bit in spite of her weight curled around him. The bathroom nightlight bled into their master bedroom and he used that shaft of dim blue light to search her face. As always, an unreadable yet curious angel stared back at him, which he found endearing when he considered the implications of no outright rejection. It wasn't the way he wanted to do it. Mumbling in his sleep was just like the clumsy Winchester way of trying to navigate a normal life.

"Well, I... I--"

"--Does marriage still mean a lifetime bond to humans?" Demiel sat up on her knees now, completely unaware of her nudity or his nudity.

Sam blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, to a lot of people. Sure." He slid up on the headboard and combed absent fingers through his hair.

"Even if one of the lovers is immortal?" she pressed in a smaller voice.

It hadn't occurred to Sam that her state of immortality and his state of mortality was a point of concern for her. Like Castiel, she never mentioned her ... lack of ability to die by normal means ... and he shifted a bit on the bed thinking of such an offensive phrase.

"It doesn't matter to me. Dean and Cas seem like they're doing just fine," he pointed out carefully.

Demiel's eyes shifted back to his and he took that as a good sign. "Don't you ever think about it? What it'd be like to do all that?"

"Angels never think about the human conventions related to matrimony and familial bonds," she said without flinching. Sam, however, recoiled into the pillows slightly and she spoke quickly to backtrack herself. "But ... in the interest of full disclosure ... the thoughts have infiltrated my increasingly worldly mind whenever I pass the bridal section of the magazine racks at the grocery store."

Seizing the opportunity, Sam pushed himself upright again and grasped her hand. "Okay. I can work with that. Who do you see in the spousal spot when you think about it?"

"Well you, of course," she replied, an obvious giggle in her throat.

"Then let's do it."

"You think we should?"

"I want to."

She paused. "I want to too."

Sam leaned back on his elbow and tugged open his nightstand drawer. In the back, behind a notebook, he'd hidden the green leather box. He wriggled it free of the hiding space and sat upright again--both of them still so very naked and in a twisted nest of blankets and pillows. The box cracked open, making Demiel tilt her head curiously as the dots connected together. Yes, it was a customary engagement ring. Yes, he'd hidden it for quite a while. Yes, the proposal was planned in some way, albeit perhaps not in such a spontaneous, stripped down manner.

"Marry me, Demmie, and I swear I'll devote my life to you and the kids," he murmured.

Shining dark eyes peered up at him, framed by worry lines. "What about having your own children? It's illegal for us to procreate."

"Noah and Evy are my kids." Somehow he realized he truly meant it too.

Time slowed into a terrible few seconds of Sam's entire life hanging in the balance. She hadn't even looked at the ring yet even though he held the box open like all men did when they proposed. If she rejected him, that meant starting life over. Again. He didn't have the stomach for the collapse of security for another time.

"Yes," she whispered.

He blinked that time. "Yes?"

"I'm terrified," she admitted through bright, laughing tears, "but like you said: Dean and Cas seem to be doing just fine."

"Oh my God," he murmured in awe.

Laughing hysterically, Demiel flung her arms around his neck. "I know!"

*****

The seven week scan got pushed back to eight weeks three days because the regular doctor tending to the Winchester surrogacy took a vacation. Since Molly, their surrogate, had a scan at six weeks to make certain her pregnancy was going well, the doctor assured that waiting a few extra days for the next scan wouldn't hurt anything.

Except Dean's sanity. Castiel listened to him go back and forth all night about whether they were having one or two babies, which was the great Easter egg hunt of the second scan. He wore himself out around four in the morning and finally went to sleep. Unfortunately, they had to be out the door by seven if they were going to meet Molly on time for their customary breakfast before the doctor visit. It took nearly dragging Dean out of bed by his hair but they made it.

"So if everything goes well at this appointment," chattered Molly over crepes and blueberries smothered in whipped cream, "then I'm getting kicked back to my regular ob/gyn for the rest of the pregnancy."

"Really?" asked Dean.

She nodded as she nipped a bit of whipped cream off her thumb. "My ob/gyn usually does the first ultrasound at week twelve. It'll go fast, I think. We're almost to week nine, for crying out loud. And I'm--" she paused, glancing down and then to James dismantling a stack of pancakes next to her, "--I'm already showing, which is... you know... a bit of an odd sensation."

"I wasn't gonna say anything but I noticed," Dean admitted between bites of bacon. "Cas told me not to make comments."

Molly smiled, but as Castiel observed her body language--how she shrank into her own shoulders--he understood the weight of external stress. "Are you okay?" It came out sharper and a bit more monotone than he intended but her stress had an affect on the health of his child. That made it his business.

"Not exactly." The decorative chiffon scarf loosely tied around her neck was clearly designed to disguise her extra weight as she adjusted it to drape over her midsection. She sighed sharply. "All right, here it is, guys. My church has rejected me."

"Come again?" asked Dean. "Why?"

"Because I'm pregnant. More specifically, I'm unmarried and pregnant. They can see it. When they started pressuring me about adoption services, I had to explain that I'm a surrogate. That led to momentary sainthood on my part until they wanted to invite the family to the church, and at that point, I explained the parents were two fathers rather than a father and a mother." Her face fell, sincerely battling with her personal convictions over the rejection of a church that meant the world to her. "I'm supposed to hate the sin and love the sinner. That doesn't include helping the sinners have children." She lifted her eyes, questioning Dean and Castiel. "How can I be so devastated at their rejection, yet hate their reasons for doing it? I don't agree with them. You're building a family out of love and no love comes from a place of sin and evil. It's a direct contradiction of everything we've been taught through the Scriptures."

Irritated but not quite understanding her devastation, Dean shook his head and balled up his napkin on his empty plate. "You don't need 'em."

"It's my church," she said quietly. "The faithful rely on the church family for encouragement and community. Most of my friends are in the church. Being excluded means I've lost everyone."

"Do you really think they care about you if they can toss you aside like this?" asked Dean, not trying to be mean from Castiel's point of view.

"It's fear," Castiel interjected. "Christians today fear what they don't understand and ignorance breeds misinformation, which is what led to this unfortunate situation. There are maybe half a dozen references to homosexuality in the Bible as it stands today and it means almost nothing compared to rape, murder, or slavery, but the ignorant often cherry pick ideas to support their misguided views."

Nodding thoughtfully, Molly cast a wistful eye over James and touched his cheek, sticky with breakfast. "They don't understand the nature of love and family but I do. It's not my place to judge you for being gay."

"Bi," corrected Dean with a raised finger.

"Oh, you're bisexual?" she asked curiously.

"Cas and I both are," he replied, "but the words don't matter to your church."

"No, you're right." Sighing heavily, Molly adjusted her fluttery colorful scarf over her lightweight ivory sweater again. She watched James create a toddler's abstract art on the restaurant's high chair, clearly lost in thought. "But what if we fight the ignorance ourselves? What if I bring the two of you and your son to my church? I could speak to our congregation and let them see you as flesh and blood human beings rather than the villains they've been taught homosexuals are in this world."

Dean looked to Castiel at the table, silently communicating every reason why that was a bad idea. He said nothing and that meant he really didn't want to offend Molly. Not wanting to hurt her meant he honestly cared about her as a person.

Taking the lead, Castiel asked her the most pressing question. "If we do this with you, how will you take it if your church still chooses to exclude you from all of their activities?"

"Then I'll know I did everything I could to teach them love as Jesus would do," she said without blinking in her most resolute voice. "You can lead a horse to water, Cas, but you can't make it drink."

"Will you be okay if they reject you?" Dean asked in a more personal tone.

"I'll have no choice but to be okay." She nodded.

Dean let out a contemplative breath and leaned back in his chair. "Okay. If it'll help you feel better, we'll go to your church. Just once though. No more. We're not churchy people. If they get rude, we're leaving. I don't want my boy exposed to the kind of homophobia I grew up with."

The waiter reappeared in the corner of Castiel's eye. He leaned over the table and said, "Gays in the Bible, huh? Heavy talk for breakfast! Tell your church to check out Ruth and Naomi, for one example, and David and Jonathan for another example. Totally gay couples. Great people too."

Stunned and jerked out of the moment by the familiar humorous tone in that voice. There Gabriel stood in an IHOP uniform grinning like the cat that caught the mouse and talking to Molly.

"The hell are you doing here?" Dean blurted.

Molly's eyes widened in shock. Usually Dean tried to watch his language around her but Gabriel showing up after a year and a half shocked the profanity right out of him. If Castiel was honest with himself, the surprise knocked the wind out of his chest too and he scarcely found words. Gabriel was expected at the fledgling nest's second birthday party but hadn't appeared for unknown reasons. None of them paid much mind, least of all Castiel himself, having been raised by the great archangel and knew all too well how fleeting his presence was in life.

"You know this waiter?" asked Molly, recovering her senses.

Dean took the question before Castiel's chronic honesty got away with him. "Molly, this is Gabriel." He looked up to the grinning archangel and King of Heaven disguised as a waiter. "This is our surrogate and friend."

"Gabriel's an old friend of the family," filled in Castiel before she could ask more questions.

"Oh," hooted the archangel, "so you're the lady having a baby, huh? You kinda look like Cas, don't you? Well done. Well done, surely."

"Yeah, that's me." Molly regarded Gabriel in some suspicion, the closed-off way she regarded all new men that she encountered.

The most casual, yet deliberate gesture followed as Gabriel laid a hand on her shoulder. Perhaps not even Dean recognized what he was doing as he made small talk with Molly while touching her, but Castiel understood. More than that, his angelic eyesight sensitive to things humans couldn't see observed the golden protective glow of Heaven's light flow through his fingers around her body. All too suddenly, Castiel understood why he appeared that morning. He needed to bless the mother as the King of Heaven without her perceiving him in that role. Humans rarely possessed the strength to comprehend that vastness of cosmic knowledge.

When Gabriel backed away, he winked at her. "Don't forget, now. Minister to your church about Ruth and Naomi and David and Jonathan. It's all written where you can find it."

*****

Afternoon sun rose high over Bobby's land and cut abstract patterns on the ground through the trees. Six toddler fledglings with outstretched wings excited to try flying again looked more like a herd of kittens getting corralled by Mael and Timaniel. Squealing laughter bounced through the woods where no one would see them while they had their stability lesson and the other angels lounged together.

Of course, the big news that afternoon was the new ring on Demiel's finger. She hadn't quit smiling yet and Sam appeared content to observe and let her have the attention. Although Castiel knew the proposal was coming, he didn't expect Demiel to soak up the role of bride-to-be in such a human manner. She had embraced being a female human over the past two years in a slow progression but angels had no conception of marriage in the way that humans did. He wanted his nest to flourish in human society, though, and watched with quiet satisfaction as her radiant smiles made their way around the wooded gathering.

Hael with her brightly colored hair wandered to the tree Dean and Castiel sat against on the ground and crouched near them. "How's it going, boys?"

"Pretty good," Dean replied. He kept his hands busy with a pocket knife and a piece of wood he found in foliage.

"I heard you guys are having another baby," she said conversationally, though she'd already been there for a week and obviously knew by then. "Dad said you found a good surrogate. She even looks like Cas to him."

"Yep, that was the intent," said Dean, carving away at his wood.

None of the conversational chatter revealed anything new to Hael or Dean, leading Castiel to conclude that it was an entirely purposeful waste of time. It was an excuse to appear occupied, he guessed, so Hael wouldn't have to face the ring on Demiel's finger. It certainly wasn't about wanting Sam anymore but the complexities of female relationships suggested their history created an awkward divide. Castiel didn't understand it in depth but he decided not to question her and risk opening a dramatic situation on such a relaxed spring afternoon.

"We had a doctor visit this morning." Contributing new information to the tedious repetitive conversation seemed like the best idea.

"Oh yeah? How'd it go?" Hael asked.

Castiel was eager to talk about his new baby. "Everything is developing normally according to the doctor. We've been told there's only one fetus, which is what we expected. The films don't look like much yet but the little grape is doing well." He grinned abruptly. "That's what Dean calls it. The little grape."

"Aw, that's so cute. Are you gonna find out what you're having?"

"We'd rather have the surprise," said Dean.

Nodding, Hael's lip protruded the way humans did in considering a new idea. "Good choice. I like it."

"Where's Jeremy?" Dean asked. He barely concealed his real question beneath those words of how much Hael's boyfriend knew about the nest.

She glanced back toward one of the larger outbuildings. "Oh, he's working on a car with Dad. I didn't wanna upset anyone by letting him watch the kids learning to fly."

"So he knows?" continued Dean.

"He knows enough," she replied smoothly.

Beyond Hael, the herd of toddling angels gave Timaniel and Mael their rapt attention. It all must have looked rather odd to Sam and Dean since their human perceptions comprehended very little of their wings anymore. The two mature angels sandwiched the little ones into a manageable clump as they demonstrated the various wing positions they had to master. Flight was far more important to an angel's development than walking in a human vessel, yet their nest learned each in the reverse order. Managing lessons in the privacy of the woods behind Bobby's home seemed like the most practical way to go. Sometimes Castiel even took pictures of James, unable to hide the swell of fatherly pride in his chest.

"Extend," Timaniel commanded the little ones. The wide expanse of his mature wings opened broadly over his shoulders and cast enormous shadows on the ground.

Mimicking him, six little voices said, "Extend!" as their tiny wings flung out at their sides.

"Curl up." From the flattened resting position, Timaniel demonstrated a slow swooping motion toward the sky. "Curl down." Then he let his wings swoop downward in rather slow and deliberate motions along with Mael in synchronization to teach the little ones.

"Good job! Look how well you're doing!" Mael encouraged the fledglings with each exercised swoop of her wings.

Small giggles arose from Katrina and Evelyn, who were known to be the closest of the cousins and got them into trouble if they were left to their own devices for too long. James and Sarah appeared to take their lessons the most seriously, often trading off and watching one instructor over another as if they shared a telepathic bond. It didn't surprise Castiel that the two most serious fledglings banded together, nor did it surprise him that Evelyn seemed to protect Noah as if she sensed his shyness and emotional sensitivity. William, however, was a natuural-born leader and, after recovering from his bout with pneumonia, took on a new attitude of foraging ahead and grabbing life by the throat. He tackled his flying lessons the way a new soldier tackled boot camp and that fact filed away in Castiel's mind, unsure of whether that trait would make him a difficult fledgling later. The nest was, after all, his responsibility. He watched over all of them with great care.

"Bank left," instructed Timaniel as he angled his wings that direction.

The little ones hadn't learned left from right yet but they still managed to copy him.

"Bank right," he said, twisting his wings in the opposite way.

Each of the fledglings followed his lead.

"Let's try flying now," urged Mael with a nod toward Timaniel.

"Right. Wings up! Swoop down and catch the air! Good!"

A great commotion of angelic takeoff wind and excited laughter arose as the lot of them bolted more than a building floor off the ground. Leaves and foliage scattered under the air pressure they created. As long as they didn't ascend higher than the treeline, none of Bobby's neighbors ran the risk of spotting any unidentified flying babies, as he called them.

"Find the air current and ride it over the creek," Timaniel called out as he led the flock through the air.

At the rear, Mael scuttled along the stragglers. "Come on. This way. Good job."

"Hell, I'm never gonna get used to seeing my kid fly," admitted Dean, shaking his head. "It freaks me out not seeing his wings anymore. I keep thinking he's gonna drop outta the sky and get hurt."

"You're right," Hael agreed. She tilted her head as her eyes tracked the fledglings across the creek. "It's really weird not seeing wings anymore."

"They're doing quite well," Castiel assured them.

The silence from Hael as she watched the toddler angels fly resembled the way she regarded the world before she fell from grace. Her eyes watered--or maybe the cool spring breeze from Canada affected her--but he sensed deeply buried longing in her chest close to where her grace once resided. A human soul filled that void, though it couldn't possibly match the heat and power of grace, and perhaps she missed that sensation. Like Sam and Dean, she couldn't even see their wings anymore. That wasn't an easy reality for any former angel to accept no matter how much time separated them from Heaven.

"Is Evy okay?" she asked after some time.

Castiel hadn't realized she'd be thinking of her fledgling. He had long since grown accustomed to viewing Evelyn as Demiel's child--one half of her twins--and admonished himself for not predicting that part of Hael's void.

"She's a very happy baby," he promised sincerely. "Demmie loves her as much as Noah. There's no difference between them as far as she's concerned."

"Very smart kid," added Dean.

Hael's eyes fell to the dirt she sifted between her fingers, though her expression remained unreadable. "Did I do the right thing?" The question sounded so small yet it was so big.

"I think you did," Castiel replied.

Dean nodded over his wood carving. "Me too. Trust me, Hael. It's better to give a child a stable home with real school and baseball and all that shit than to drag them all over the place while you try to figure out your life after it was taken from you." He shrugged, lifting his brows. "I speak from personal experience. Sammy would say the same thing."

"Is he a good father to her?" Hael looked to Dean for that question.

"Yup. He's great. Everything kinda landed in his lap but he's doing great with the kids. She's definitely a daddy's girl, I think."

She lowered her eyes to the ground again and sifted a new handful of dirt through her fingers. "Good," she murmured. "She always did cry for him more. Evy was meant for him in the end. I was just the means that brought her to him. I wish things could've turned out differently but it's done and here we are." The wistful tone matched the reflection of subtle regret in her eyes as she peered up at the fledglings in flight.

It wasn't her words that Castiel absorbed. Humans rattled off all kinds of words strung together in meaningful phrases. Her body language told him of the regret she harbored over letting her child go. Later, he intended to talk with Dean about what regret meant.


	9. Chapter 9

"These places make me itch," Dean muttered. He swung James from one arm to the other so he could walk closer to Castiel, who took the sight of the steeple in stride.

A few strides ahead, Molly looked like the American version of the Duchess of Cambridge in her form fitting lavender dress that cut to her knees. Castiel suspected she wore a tighter dress to put her bravery and fortitude on display along with her tiny baby bump. She was not afraid of judgment from those churchgoers that Sunday morning. At least, that was the impression she clearly intended to give by looking like an American duchess. Even her dark hair seemed glossier in the springtime sunlight as it swirled down her back in lovely curls. Absently, Castiel experienced a fleeting image of a daughter looking like that someday--proud and confident in her life's path.

Molly looked back at the men and their toddler. She let them catch up to her as they made their way through the parking lot. "Hold your heads high. Shoulders back. One thing my granny always taught me was to look like the person you want to be even if you don't feel that way just yet. Let me do the talking first. I can feel them staring at me already because I'm not supposed to be here. I think I have a plan for what I want to say to them."

She was right, of course. People pouring into the church, up the concrete steps, all turned and sporadically cast eyes over like examining a foreigner. They didn't bother Castiel but he knew being watched made Dean uneasy. He'd spent his life moving among the shadows and skimming just beneath the surface of life to keep it safe for the millions who had no idea monsters threatened their lives every day. His instincts were hard to fight. Being watched told him there was danger, that they were being pursued. Castiel watched the struggle play out on Dean's face much like a soldier trying to adjust to home life after being deployed in war.

"It won't be long. These services are never more than an hour or two," came Castiel's attempt at reassurance.

Nodding, Dean's eyes dropped to the ground as the crowd bottlenecked the double doorways. They followed Molly down the right side of the sanctuary until she ducked into the third row of pews. She gestured for them to remain there, her features hard and determined. Sitting together let them play with James rather than pretend to ignore the fact that no one welcomed them into the congregation.

Before the processional even had a chance to form, Molly mounted the three steps at the altar and stood tall and resplendent with her hands folded beneath the swell of her tummy. She waited. Her eyes scanned the congregation in silence until people here and there noticed her. One by one, family by family, people turned and faced the lone woman at the altar with questioning eyes. Even Dean and Castiel watched her without knowing what she planned to say. Only the smallest signs of anxiety came through her presence in the way she adjusted the simple gold chain around her neck or the pale blue gemstone dangling from her earlobes. But as the ambient chatter through the sanctuary settled into questioning silence, her spine stiffened and her lips thinned into a pensive line.

"Good morning."

No one returned her greeting.

"Many of you have known me since I was a little girl. I came to this church with my granny after my mom died. The love and care I got here gave me so much joy, which wasn't easy to accomplish for a girl without a father and whose mother died violently. I devoted myself to this church. I taught Sunday school until a couple of years ago. I lead a women's Bible study. I organized a soup kitchen for the needy in this county."

Murmurings interrupted her but nothing loud enough to be perceived. Her eyes flickered but she carried on without letting them see how the rejection had affected her heart.

"Some of you noticed I'm expecting a child a little over a week ago. The gossip and speculation infesting this church since then has been anything but godly and you all made it clear that I'm not welcome here. I came back today and I brought two dear people with me. Their son is going to have a little brother or sister because I chose to give them a family they couldn't have on their own. It's immaterial that these two people are both men when it comes to raising a beautiful, loving family. I see deep bonds in their family, you understand. People who truly care for one another and would lay down their lives to protect each other without hesitation. I like to think they would do that for me too. In fact, I know they care for me with their selfless act of setting foot among all of you, who have proven yourselves judgmental and hostile to who they are."

Again, her words were interrupted by murmurings that came louder and a touch angrier that time. She paused. For a moment, Castiel wondered if she faltered until he saw her draw in a hearty breath.

"Christians are told to believe homosexuality is a sin. We're told these men will go to hell because they lie together each night, they have a family, and they dare to love one another. I came here ready to argue Scripture today and show you proof of the love between Ruth and Naomi as well as Jonathan and David that has been conveniently ignored. Now I'm looking around this church and--" Molly sighed and her shoulders heaved with the strain. She shook her head. "It's not worth it. I brought Dean, Cas, and their two-year-old boy here with me to try and show you the love that exists in this family. I wanted to change you and hope that you'd see them as human beings, not monsters. But I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to put people I care about on display for you to judge them like you're superior when you're all sinners yourselves. All of mankind is prone to sin. I'd rather be part of a church that encourages and lifts the spirit rather than casting us out into the cold. I'm ten weeks pregnant right now, which means I'm almost in my second trimester. I need people to learn on and support me through it but I realize I have that now. Dean and Cas are always there when I call. They're not churchgoers but they never make me feel bad for being a woman of faith. God gave me the mightiest of blessings when He brought them into my life and I'm only sorry it took your collective rejection to make me see that."

Without ceremony, Molly lowered her gaze and left the altar. She clutched her gold chain as she strode down the center aisle while the congregants watched in stunned silence. Dean's head whipped around and he stared questioningly at Castiel, obviously not expecting Molly to go down that road. He lifted James onto his hip and they walked out together, hands linked, never looking anyone in the eye.

Outside in the parking lot, a lone figure in a fitted dress leaned on her car hood. Her arms crossed over her chest and made her swollen middle more visible. James, unaware of the weight of what just happened, clapped his hands and shrieked happily for Molly, who he'd begun calling Moh-Moh. She woke from a daze at the child's beckoning and her smile came out abrupt and jerky as if for his benefit. Reaching out, she took James from Dean and balanced him on her hip. He set to playing with her hair right away as he always did.

"Geez, Molly, you could run for office with those speech skills. Or a lawyer. My brother would've loved what you did in there," Dean said, making light of the unfortunate situation.

She shrugged, a humble clarity shining through her eyes. "I just did what was right for all of us."

"Come home with us. You shouldn't be alone this afternoon," offered Castiel.

"Have you got any of that birthday cake left?" Molly asked.

Grinning broadly, Dean fished through his pockets for his car keys. "My kid's definitely laying in that hot tub in there if you're eating this much. C'mon. Let's get you hooked up with pecan pie too."

"Why pecan?"

Castiel rolled his eyes. "It's Dean's favorite."

Neither Dean nor Castiel said much about the church on the way home. Molly followed them along winding back roads in her own car, prompting Dean to check his rear view mirror far more than necessary. In no time, James dropped off to sleep thanks to the Impala engine gently vibrating his car seat in the back. It gave Castiel the perfect time to talk about what happened, yet he hesitated. Did it really merit a whole discussion? It was pretty cut and dry what Molly did, taking that stand for them against the hypocrisy of the church. Even still, he couldn't help but think she needed them now more than ever with her biggest support system gone.

"Dean, I was thinking about the new house."

"What about it?"

He wasn't sure himself but he pressed on with his thoughts. "Well, what if we offered Molly the spare bedroom for the duration of her gestation period?"

Dean didn't respond right away. "Something to chew on, I guess," he ventured. "Don't you worry about mixing up the business and the personal too much though? I dunno if that'd make it harder on her in the end since she has to hand over the baby to us that she'd been carrying in her belly for nine months. Living with us might make her too comfortable."

"I don't think she'd try to keep the baby," Castiel replied thoughtfully.

"She can't. We have a contract and a ton of money tied up in lawyers." Growing older had, in fact, instilled a sense of practicality in Dean that was absent when Castiel first knew him.

Nodding, Castiel was glad he recognized that point. "Exactly," he said.

"You think it's a good idea," Dean replied pointedly.

"Yes. I think we crossed the line of business matters and personal matters today anyway. Molly left a church she held more dear than the memory of her family because they treated all of us badly. It would be wrong of us not to offer her sanctuary from the wolves now that they've gotten a whiff of blood in the air."

Sighing after a moment, Dean's head bobbed in a considerate, slow nod. "You're still an angel in there."

"Of course I am. What else would I be?"

The hunter threw a half-smile over at him in the passenger seat and shook his head. "Okay, we can offer it to her. I wouldn't mind keeping an eye on her anyway since we've had such bad luck having this kid up until now."

"Think about it. We don't need to rush it. There are drawbacks to inviting outsiders into our home that must be considered too," cautioned Castiel.

*****

The hinge refused to budge. Sam's muscles strained all the way up into his sleeves with the effort of twisting the screwdriver. He should have gotten his power tools back from Bobby before tackling that project but he didn't think changing cabinet doors was a big deal.

The diner was set up with a square shaped set of display cases filled with pies and desserts as well as counters where people ate who didn't need booths or tables. Staff worked the interior of the square border and cabinet doors opened inward for easy access. Demiel had gotten them second hand on the promise that Sam would work on them later. It took a year and a half but he finally got around to making repairs. That night after the diner closed, he set to work on replacing hinges and doors while Demiel bathed the kids in the upstairs apartment.

Irritated with the old rusted hinge, Sam let go and shook the tension from his hands. It was a vendetta now. He would get the damn thing off that night or break the screwdriver trying. Once more, he lined the head up with the screw and twisted. Orange-red rust coated the hinge as if the damn thing had been left outside in the harsh South Dakota elements for years. No wonder Demiel complained about not being able to open it without using both hands.

The screwdriver slipped with enough force to pierce the fleshy side of Sam's pointer finger. "Ow! Fuck!" he spat aloud in the silent diner as he brought the finger to his lips and sucked the bloody wound.

"Hate it when that happens. You should try breaking the hinge if you have no need to save it."

Sam twisted around to the source of the voice, thinking he was alone, but instead finding Jeremy casually leaning on the kitchen doorway. Hael's boyfriend shrugged and his mouth lifted in a sympathetic smile, yet something else peeked through his expression that Sam couldn't quite place.

"How'd you get in here?" he blurted around his finger, not meaning to sound that harsh.

Jeremy's eyes turned up to the ceiling. "Our ladies are upstairs catching up."

An image flashed in Sam's mind of Demiel jamming the heel of her stiletto boot through Hael's chest. Ridiculous, he knew, but Demiel harbored a lot of issues about the way Hael left town almost two years before that night. He knew she would be a gracious hostess and perfectly mannered but he also knew she would hate every minute of it.

"Can I give you a hand?" Jeremy asked.

"Sure," agreed Sam, deciding he wouldn't bleed to death before they could pry off the cabinet door.

Though not very tall, Jeremy was built stoutly and displayed impressive strength. Both men crouched around the troublesome door. One held the wood steady while the other hammered the rusty hinge free in just a few minutes. Flexing and stretching brought a renewed flow of blood to Sam's punctured finger and he knew he couldn't screw on the new cabinet door until he took care of it.

"I got it," offered Jeremy, taking the dark stained slab of wood from the pile.

It gave Sam pause. He eyed the man, basically a stranger to him, and wondered how he seemed to answer his unspoken thoughts. Questions filled his mind but he decided to tread carefully out of a lingering respect for Hael. He has truly cared for her even if it was a misguided romantic attachment. If she loved this Jeremy guy, Sam had to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"So what do you do for a living?" he asked.

"Sales manager at a Dodge dealership in Chicago," said Jeremy in a spiteful tone. He shrugged at Sam's questioning eyes. "I go to art school with Hael. The dealership job is to just help me pay for my tuition. What I really want to do is go into commercial art. Maybe even historical restoration down South sometime."

Sam nodded. "Historical restoration involves art school?"

"Yeah, you'd be surprised. I was originally going to art school in Savannah, Georgia, but I couldn't take living that close to certain family members, so I transferred up here to the north. Where I was going in Savannah had a program for people who wanted to go into restoration. There are all kinds of programs in the arts if that's what you want to do."

"Uh-huh," Sam replied, taking in the information and analyzing it for signs of discontented motives. "And is Hael willing to go down South with you if you decide to go that way?"

Jeremy shrugged again. "We haven't really talked about it. You know how she is. She's a live by the seat of her pants in the moment kind of girl. Conversations about the future don't really sit well with her, so we just enjoy each other's company for right now. I guess the future will just sort itself out as it comes, you know?"

"Sure, sure." While Sam pretended to agree with a thoughtful bob of his head, he couldn't get his mind around being in a relationship and not having some common goal. Of course, he hadn't always been that way. Being a hunter didn't exactly allow for thoughts of settling down and establishing roots with a family somewhere.

Having secured the new cabinet door in place, Jeremy tested it with a wide swing open and shut again. He smiled at his work. Maybe he didn't do too much in the way of home repairs, Sam guessed. Cabinet doors weren't that big of a deal. Still, he didn't rob the guy of his moment of delight in what he accomplished.

"C'mon upstairs," he suggested, stretching to his full height. "You want a beer?"

"Yeah, that'd be great."

Sam lead the way through the back stairwell in the kitchen and brought Jeremy to his apartment door. Part of him expected to find his fiancée and Jeremy's girlfriend locked in some kind of tussle even though he knew better. Demiel displayed her wide experience with centuries of combat most humans had never conceived of so rarely that Sam sometimes forgot she had ever been part of Heaven's most elite fighting unit. She wouldn't lose control of herself over simple insecurity when it came to a woman that Sam used to favor over her.

"Hey," greeted Sam as he retreated to the kitchen immediately to wash his puncture wound. "I'll be out in a second. Just kinda stabbed myself with a screwdriver. Gotta take care of it."

"Hiya, Sam," chirped Hael.

"Are you okay?" Demiel's voice floated in from the living room. "Is it bad?"

"No big deal," Sam assured.

After he scrubbed out the wound and slapped a Band-Aid on it, he emerged into the open space between the living room and the kitchen with several cold beers. There he recognized right away just how Demiel held court over the room. She arranged herself in a tall wingback chair that she had reupholstered the previous winter while Hael and Jeremy sat on the couch. Everything from Demiel's fingertips toying with the ends of her ponytail to her straight posture to her neatly folded legs exuded one simple message: I am the queen of my castle. She mimicked that rich lady from Revenge, her favorite television show. It meant she desired nothing more than to convey to Hael just who was in charge and who won both Sam and Evelyn. Most importantly, no one was going to take them away from her.

"Gabriel was here today, apparently," she announced to Sam, still toying with her ponytail.

That was the last thing Sam expected. His head tilted. "What? Did you see him?"

"No, but he left birthday presents for the kids. I put them to bed, by the way. Evy was asking for you to come read the caterpillar book." Her hand flipped to the built in bookshelves lining the wall behind the couch where Hael and Jeremy sat. "Guinea pigs. He left guinea pigs for each of the twins right down to cages and tubes and treats and everything."

"Oh."

Laughter bubbles in Sam's throat. Jeremy grinned soon afterward and then Hael giggled behind her hand.

"The kids got so excited that I couldn't say no," Demiel said, smiling faintly with the memory of her excited babies. "I don't know how I'm going to take care of pets on top of little ones and the diner too though."

"I like animals," Sam admitted. "I'll handle the little guys. No problem."

"I bet he sent guinea pigs to all the little ones," Hael commented, highly amused.

Sam snorted. "Yeah, that'll go over well."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some sexual content.

Castiel's strong fingers kneaded through the tight muscle contracted painfully over the right side of Dean's upper back. He bent over his lap where they sat on their bed and muffled grunts hinted at the pain Castiel's hands inflicted. With only one lamp left in their bedroom, it gave the impression of romance, though Dean's body seemed to reject any further exertion.

"You're sure the guinea pig isn't gonna get eaten," Dean said.

"No. Bixby can't climb the shelf. At least not that high. James was so excited when he saw the cage, so I don't think we can take it away from him now." Rolling hands finally made progress with loosening Dean's contracted muscles. "It's been a week and no guinea pig disasters. I think it'll be fine. Gabriel means well with his gifts but he's not always the most practical-minded being in existence."

Dean's head bobbed in a nod. "Yeah," he replied, thoughts drifting with the back and shoulder massage. "Did I tell you James has a name for the little rat?"

"No. What did he choose?"

"Batman." The pride in Dean's grin could not be denied.

Laughing shook Castiel's body as he shook his head. "He's definitely your son then."

"Damn straight."

"Bixby the cat and Batman the guinea pig," Castiel murmured to himself as his fingers kneaded closer to the most irritated portion of Dean's shoulder muscles. "I'm sorry this is painful."

"It's getting better," Dean muttered. Drowsiness thickened his words. "I gotta check on Squirt and take a shower."

"James is asleep in his crib. All the excitement lately with moving and the new guinea pig have worn him out. We need to figure out how to explain about Molly and the baby soon before he notices her body growing larger by the week." As he spoke, Castiel concentrated his massage efforts just below Dean's right shoulderblade. "I wish you wouldn't have tried to move the couch without my help. These muscles here are inflamed now. You can't lift anything else for a few days at least. I'm serious about that, Dean."

The corner of his husband's mouth turn up. "You say that like you don't trust me."

"I don't. Not about this."

"We're moving to the new house next weekend. I can't very well sit on my ass and do nothing," Dean insisted. He gritted his teeth as Castiel pressed into a muscle around his ribs.

A sigh passed through Castiel's lips before he could hide his reaction. He softened it quickly, leaning over Dean's back and wrapping his arms around the hunter's naked torso. His cheek rested on Dean's uninjured shoulder, a hand splayed wide on the anti-possession tattoo. "You're not alone anymore. There's enough family here now to help you with packing boxes and lifting furniture. It's better to say you need help than to be prideful and take on everything by yourself. If you won't ask the nest for help, then at least ask me for help."

"I'm not the asking for help kind of guy," he replied quietly.

"Nor are you as young as you used to be. Life has been hard on your body and you work harder than anyone I know. You don't need to control everything around you all the time. You deserve a break."

Dean smiled again, faintly so, and turned back enough so that Castiel's nose brushed his cheekbone. "Now you're stroking my ego, Cas."

"Would you prefer it if I stroked something else then?" A somewhat leering smile creased Castiel's lips then as one of his hands fell to the hem of Dean's boxer briefs tightly stretched over his thigh. "You know, the human orgasm releases natural painkillers in the body's hormones."

"But the rugrat--"

"--is asleep in his crib down the hall. He's okay for the night. You, on the other hand--"

"--Oh man," Dean breathed deeply and arched his spine. Shaky chuckles did nothing to hide the growing bulge cupped in Castiel's hand.

The angel cheated. He took advantage of the haze that came over Dean when arousal left him stiff and wanting. If he'd been more aware, he might have noticed the tepid warmth and illuminated smokiness billowing from Castiel's parted lips with each wet kiss. Those healing kisses trailed around the back of Dean's neck and across the broadness of his shoulders. Grace light escaped Castiel's lips directly from his core and seeped into the tiny pores of Dean's skin. True, the angel had vowed not to rely on his grace when their son arrived and had even imposed a ban on the other angels using their graces without proper permission, but he never could stomach watching Dean suffer. Not in the apocalypse. Not there at home getting ready to move into their first house together.

Getting Dean compliant and his body liquified proved easy enough with a feathery touch here and palming through his shorts there. He never noticed Castiel's true intentions. At his gentle nudging, Dean leaned back on his chest like lounging in a well-loved chair, hooded eyes and flushed chest displaying his state of surrender. A warm hand lingered on Dean's shoulder and only the faintest glow bled through their pressed skin while Castiel healed the inflamed muscles. With the other hand, he rubbed Dean's engorged flesh through his boxer briefs--slow, languid, and full of promises of a consuming climax. A low groan rolled from Dean's chest that sounded as thick and sensitive as the rest of his body. He skimmed his hand over Castiel's fingers, dragging them both upward and downward with the kind of pressure that made his hips curl and roll insistently.

"You don't need to do a thing," Castiel whispered as he bent to kiss Dean's ear. "You work hard for us and you should be appreciated."

Another low, languid groan seeped from Dean's parted lips in response, nearly sounding drugged in the moment. Castiel withdrew the light flow of grace to a trickle in case the meager amount sent Dean too far into dreamland.

A thumb hooked into the waistband and tugged his husband's shorts low around his thighs but didn't jostle him more than necessary should it rouse him from that calm. The simultaneous softness of Dean's skin over such a rigid limb entranced Castiel even though he'd seen his nakedness hundreds of times over the years. He took his time, grasping Dean at the root of his being, and drew upward with a calloused palm sliding over velvety skin. As he went about his work, occasionally guided and helped along by both Dean's hand and the increasingly hoarse encouragements from his throat, Castiel's swollen lips played with the hard lines of his shoulder and jaw.

The waves rolled on gradually the way a storm gathered strength bit by bit over the sea until it crashed ferociously onto the coast. Castiel mended the pulled muscles long before Dean's body snapped like a taut rubber band. He arched, he jerked about, and he clutched Castiel's thigh so hard that it left white marks in his vessel's meat. The angel let him build slowly since so many of their nights in bed came about from a few precious minutes of hurried rutting and release before the baby woke.

Dean gasped, his breath stuttering in his chest, and Castiel nuzzled in close, trying to feel his release through him. If they pressed close enough, sometimes the reverberations from Dean's soul pounded on Castiel's grace through their chests like bass pounding through stereo speakers. His body gulped air and tried to moan at the same time, which came out in strangled bursts much like the bursts spilling over Castiel's hand and over Dean's chest. Tension slowly unwound from Dean's arms, and eventually from his legs, making him quite a heavy mass of limbs sprawled over Castiel's lap. His lips quirked into a faint, dreamy sort of smile as his senses spiraled back down to the present moment. It didn't matter to Castiel whether the favor would be returned or not. Gratification came just as easily from taking care of Dean and ensuring that he felt loved and needed. He'd never say such a thing aloud, of course. Dean would think of it as soft and tenderhearted, which were things grown men shouldn't be in the open apparently.

"Well, now I'm useless," Dean slurred. "I was gonna finish packing the spare bedroom."

"Not at this hour. It's after midnight," said Castiel, passing a hand over Dean's brow into his hair. "Sleep, love. The boxes will be there tomorrow. We're making good time."

"Bossy." Still, Dean snuggled against Castiel's chest.

"You knew that when you put the ring on my hand," he murmured into Dean's ear with a hint of amusement in his tone.

*****

The competing odors of rubber, wood, and chemicals never appealed to Castiel but he accompanied Sam and Dean to the hardware store the next day anyhow. Frankly, he didn't trust Dean to select appropriate light fixtures to be installed in the new house and he certainly didn't expect him to select attractive paint colors for the walls.

"I'm telling you, there's something screwed up about that guy," Sam said as he steered a double stroller into the light fixture section behind Dean pushing a single stroller. "He answered my question."

"What a creep," joked Dean.

Castiel ignored the brothers, heading the pack with an obnoxiously bright orange shopping cart. His head craned upward and felt instantly overwhelmed by dozens of bright, glittering chandeliers surrounded by smaller, more tasteful ceiling fixtures. The vast display caught even James' attention as he pointed from his stroller and babbled about pretty lights. It required a careful eye though, and Castiel tilted his head this way and that, searching for simple but artistic designs. He hated the sleek minimalist lines of contemporary design, a fact about himself that he'd recently discovered while thumbing through architecture magazines.

"Recessed lights aren't bad," suggested Dean over his brother.

Shooting him a disgusted look, Castiel shook his head and pushed the cart a few more yards down the line. Recessed lights. He certainly didn't like that idea. Dark finishes soon caught his eye instead, however. The box label described it as a light antique bronze semi-flush ceiling light with a vintage style faux alabaster glass shade measuring nineteen inches. He didn't know what most of that meant but there were wall sconces and a couple of choices in dining room chandeliers designed to go with it.

"Dean, you're not listening," Sam said, irritated.

"Oh, I am," he replied through a teasing grin. "You don't like Jeremy. He answered your question or something."

Sam sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "You're a dick."

"Language, please," cautioned Castiel absently as he read a box.

"You sure you're not jealous of the guy?" Dean asked his brother somewhere in between laughter and seriousness.

"This has nothing to do with jealousy. I wish people would quit tiptoeing around me like Hael having a boyfriend will shatter my tender little heart. I'm over her. I've been over her since I started going out with Demmie. We're getting married. She's the one. This is not about Hael." Sam's tone turned strained, which drew Castiel's attention from counting up how many light fixtures he needed. Sam folded his arms over the stroller handle bar and took a breath. "Jeremy's creepy. The other night I was down in the diner installing new cabinet doors and he just kinda appeared in the kitchen doorway. Then the next day I ran into him at the shopping center, you know, the one with the store for kids clothes. What the hell was he doing there? I acted cool because I was trying to find new shoes for the kids like Demmie wanted but I didn't see their sizes. All the sudden Jeremy pointed around the aisle to the other aisle and said, 'The fives and sixes are over there.' I didn't even say it out loud what I was looking for. How did he know Evy's a five and Noah's a six? He was in my thoughts."

"He can't be in your thoughts," Castiel said evenly. "Humans don't possess that power."

"Maybe he's just really observant. You know how those fake psychics and magicians do stuff," added Dean, nodding with Castiel as well.

Sam rolled his eyes and flung a hand in the air. It seemed to truly bother him that they dismissed his allegations with, at least to Castiel, perfectly sound logic. "Does he look like a magician to you? Seen any rabbits in his hats?" He sighed again. "You guys have gone soft. Especially you, Dean. You used to catch a whiff of something wrong and you'd gallop off to work a job like a dog after a rack of ribs."

"Dude, not cool," replied Dean as he heaved the chandelier Castiel wanted into the bottom tray of the shopping cart.

"I think he was a Marine," Castiel said suddenly.

Squabbling brothers stopped there in the light fixture aisle and stared at him.

Shrugging, Castiel folded his list again and jammed the notebook page into his pocket. "It's his posture. The way he carries himself. His upper body is always sturdy and straight even though he's not carrying anything on his shoulders. Few human men walk that way except those with military service in their backgrounds. Maines, I'd guess."

"Our dad was a Marine," said Dean quietly.

"So not the point, Dean," Sam cut him off in monotone annoyance.

"Shut up," he snapped back.

It was Castiel's turn to sigh. "Enough, both of you. Come this way. Walk and talk. I need to select paint colors for the new living room and dining room."

A pair of brothers pushing baby strollers followed Castiel in contemplative silence like scolded children following a parent. Perhaps he'd been too harsh but he was running out of time to make improvements on the new house before they started moving boxes and furniture into it. He certainly didn't want to paint walls after the new dining room set got delivered. It wasn't going soft, as Sam put it. It was prioritizing his life in a different way, focusing on the home and hearth like the days of old.

Dean spoke again, more seriously in tone that time. "He does kinda slink around like a cat hunting a mouse."

"Mh-hmm," agreed Sam.

"We're letting this guy in on the nest's business without really checking him out too," Dean continued.

"Mh-hmm," Sam agreed again as if he knew it already.

"You think Hael really knows him?"

A shrug heaved Sam's shoulders. "I think she knows what he wants her to know if my hunch is right. She's only been human for a couple of years. We can't trust her judgment in these things."

"That's quite true," agreed Castiel as he carded through paint chips.

"Cas, you sure he's human?" Dean called up ahead to him.

"Yes," he replied absently, far more focused on the neutral paint colors mounted in a brightly lit shelf display. "That doesn't mean he was born human though, or anyone else for that matter. As of his arrival with Hael, yes, they're both human. What do you think of Lambskin? Or Smoky Taupe?" He held the paint chips side by side.

"Lambskin's too pink," offered Sam.

Dean's eyes focused on the neutrals on the rack and plucked out a different paint chip. "Staghorn in the dining room and Smoky Taupe in the living room."

"Too close to the couch color. It'll wash out the room," Sam pointed out as he returned the Smoky Taupe paint chip to the shelf and selected something a bit more bold. "Labrador Blue. Or something that leans green even, but stay away from beige and gray in the living room unless you're gonna get a couch in a bolder color. Do the trim in the off white family. Trust me. I've painted enough houses. People make this mistake all the time."

"Gotta listen to Van Gogh, I guess, since he's gonna paint for us," said Dean as he turned the blue paint chip from side to side and appraised its depth.

"I am?"

Dean nodded. "Somebody's gotta take over painting my house while I look into Jeremy's life history. Who knows? Maybe we've got a hunt on our hands."

"Just like old times," Sam said.

"Just like old times," Dean echoed.

*****

In the end, Castiel decided maybe Sam was right about bolder wall colors and it changed everything about how he wanted the new house to look. He wasn't sure exactly when his priorities shifted from preventing celestial wars to Hawaiian Cinder, Shortgrass Prairie, Manhattan Mist, chair rails, and wainscoting. Dean said it was nesting, which Castiel found ridiculous since he wasn't gestating, but it occurred to him that perhaps Molly might like to see the house's progress since she would experience those urges.

"Daddy, pway the grr song!" chirped James from the backseat of Castiel's car.

"All right, all right," Castiel replied with a smile.

The grr song, as James called it, soon filled the car and he happily sang along in his toddler way. He liked Katy Perry, much to Dean's chagrin, and insisted on listening to the song called Roar at least once a day. Castiel hoped he'd grow out of it soon but, looking back at the pudgy-cheeked smile in his rear view mirror, he couldn't deny his boy something so innocent that made him happy.

Two more run throughs of Roar brought Castiel and James to Bobby's house, a quiet property in the country that sometimes looked quite run down. Bobby liked it that way. He said it kept the prowlers from thinking he had anything of value worth stealing.

"Hello!" Castiel called out as he pushed open the front door, carrying James on his hip.

Heavy boots stomped up a stairwell from deep within the old house. Bobby appeared in the kitchen, having ascended from the basement with a power tool clutched under one arm and a piece of wood in his other hand. The second he saw James, however, he forgot his chore and abandoned the tool and wood on the kitchen table, and then reached out for the boy. Grinning broadly, James squealed and clapped his hands as Bobby hooked his fingers under his arms and relieved Castiel of toddler weight.

"My first grandboy," he said in a surprisingly tender tone for such a gruff man, "you got here just in time. Wanna help your ol' man patch up a busted windowsill?"

"What happened?" asked Castiel, brow arched.

"Dunno." Shrugging, Bobby led them through the house. "Felt a draft this morning and found the sil in Hael's room got busted somehow. Surprised to see you here today with the new house coming up and whatnot. How's things going?"

"Things are quite busy. Sam's painting the new living room today while Dean's working his shift at the diner. Actually Sam sent me over here to collect--" Castiel produced a fistful of running lists from his jeans pocket and shuffled through them until he found Sam's handwriting, "--three drop cloths, plastic sheets, a ten gallon bucket, a mixing stick, and trim brushes." He squinted at Bobby, head tilted. "What's a mixing stick?"

Wrinkles deepened along with the gravely depths of Bobby's laughter. He stuffed rags in the hole left by the broken windowsill with one hand and clutched James with the other, who gripped fistfuls of his grandfather's shirt in return.

Bobby made his way from the top floor down to the basement where he kept most of his house tools, though Castiel remembered some things stored in the shed out back. A great many happy memories existed in the secret recesses of Castiel's mind, in fact, drawing him back to the early days of his relationship with Dean. They stole away to that shed for a few precious minutes of private kisses and endearing words a number of times when James was just a tiny newborn fledgling. Dean hadn't always been at ease with the turn their bond took thanks to the wriggling little babe Castiel brought home. It had always been home, he decided, looking back on it. Dean took it for a fact long before Castiel did. Faith here. Trust there. The universe had been nudging them together for years and that shed out back--

"--Cas."

"What?" He nearly jumped back half a body length.

"Where's your mind, boy?"

"Nowhere important." Castiel cleared his throat and felt heat bloom over the apples of his cheeks. That seemed like a rather human reaction to embarrassment and he certainly didn't like it. "Bobby, have you seen anything strange about Jeremy?" The sudden turn in conversation wasn't graceful but he had to turn the attention away from himself.

"Jeremy? Uh, I dunno. Keeps to himself and to Hael mostly," Bobby replied as he put James on the floor and gathered up the items on Sam's painting list. "He didn't fry in the shower, so he ain't no demon. Silver didn't hurt him either. Looks okay as far as I can see."

"You turned the shower into holy water?"

"All the water pipes in this house are blessed," he said as if stating an overly obvious fact.

"Oh. Well, good thinking," Castiel said noncommittally. "I was just wondering if anything in his behavior has given you reason for concern or suspicion."

Bobby shook his head but studied Castiel's face for real answers. "Anyone suspect him of anything?"

"Sam."

"Oh...."

"It's not like that," corrected Castiel quickly. "There has been some interaction between them as if Jeremy has been following him around town and speaking as if he's reading Sam's thoughts. I assured him that humans don't possess the ability to read minds but it didn't seem to give him much comfort. He truly believes there's something wrong with this man."

"Good enough reason for me. Sam's got better instincts than Dean in stuff like this, but don't you go telling Dean I said that."

Castiel tilted his head. "Okay."

"What's the plan?"

"Dean took charge of the situation," Castiel began.

"No surprise there," chuckled Bobby, folding an enormous piece of paint splattered canvas into a manageable heap.

"He intends to research Jeremy's history to make sure his story checks out. I suppose he told Sam a little bit about his past. That's why Sam is painting our new house's interior instead of Dean. It was what Dean decided. I have no desire to heap it on both of them alone though since I'm simply looking after James and nesting, as it's called."

"Nesting, eh? Feeling a little pregnant there, Cas?"

Castiel heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes. "Dean said I'm obsessing about paint and trim and furniture because I'm getting ready for the new baby." He padded the word obsessing with air quotes and rolled his eyes again to make his point.

The old man laughed in the back of his throat and peered down at James toddling around the basement. "Y'hear that, James? Your dad's become a decorator." His smile melted from amusement to something a bit more sincere, an expression Bobby rarely showed. "Don't worry, Cas. I'll start workin' the kid over for information. If there's something to worry about, we'll figure it out. I mean, he's dating my daughter. I've got a wide selection of shotguns for just such an occasion."

"One more thing," said Castiel. "Don't ask Sam about Hael. He becomes agitated."

Bobby's brow lifted, surprised and, he guessed, a bit confused. "Is he still into her?"

"Not at all and that's why he becomes so frustrated with the incessant questions. We must let him focus on his new family with Demmie, I think," Castiel replied. "That's why I've asked you about this Jeremy problem. I'd rather not get Sam too entangled in this mess even if it is his suspicion that prompted it."

"Got it." Nodding, Bobby loaded the bucket with the tools on the list. "Better get this stuff back to the boy before he starts calling us."


	11. Chapter 11

They couldn't put it off anymore. Molly teetered on the cusp of her second trimester of the surrogate pregnancy and, although James seemed to know some things, Castiel and Dean knew they had to try and talk with him. They used bath time for the conversation since James wasn't as likely to wander off or get distracted by the cat, the television, or anything else.

"So do you think you're gonna like being a big brother?" Dean asked from his perch on the closed toilet seat. "I'm gonna need your help, you know. You get to be a big boy."

James nodded dutifully. "The bay-bee hab a name?"

"No, not yet. Daddy and I have to choose a name like when you chose Batman for your guinea pig that Grandpa Gabriel gave you."

"Robin," decided James with a sharp nod. "Or Poison Ibee. If bay-bee hab red hairs, we call it Ibee." With that important matter squared away in his young mind, he shifted to the next important matter. "Angel or hooman?" questioned James as he poured out a dump truck in the bath tub.

"Human," replied Dean. "You get to be an angel like Daddy and your little brother or sister gets to be a human like me."

The fledgling pondered the news. Castiel observed his shining blue-black wings go unusually still as his toddler mind processed what they told him. His freckles stood out even more against the white bath tub, as did the thoughtful green eyes he'd imprinted from Dean in his infancy. Baby fat would still pad his human vessel for years to come but increasingly mature angel wings and astounding comprehension of the events surrounding him reminded Castiel just how quickly angel fledglings grew up. He grasped potty training within a week and seemed to understand the responsibility of being the older child in their young family.

"I watch ober bay-bee," he said as if arriving on a solid decision. And just like that, his quiet thoughtfulness retreated in favor of the exuberance of a two year old playing in the bath tub.

Dean stared down at Castiel, who sat on the floor near the edge of the bath, and he seemed haunted by those words. Castiel tilted his head. A silent question passed from one angel to one human--what's the matter? Instead of explaining, Dean shook his head and pursed his lips as if shaking off the grasp of an old ghost.

Later, after James made his rounds through the apartment for the last time saying good night to the cat, the guinea pig, and all their possessions carefully packed in boxes, Castiel asked Dean what bothered him. They camped out as a family on the mattress and box springs in the master bedroom. Their son slept with his legs tucked under his tummy and his bottom poking up as he had since he was created, and Dean skimmed a large hand down his back. Thoughtful, he didn't answer Castiel's question right away.

"He said he's gonna watch over the baby."

"It's his instinct as an angel to watch over humans," Castiel explained.

"I know. It just took me back to all those times when my dad took off on a job or a bender and he'd say 'watch over Sammy' like I was a grown man. He always did that. I didn't get to be a kid because I was too busy trying to make sure my brother got to be a kid. That's not the kind of responsibility I want to weigh down my son."

"It won't."

Dean's eyes lifted from the toddler to Castiel's face as he leaned against the wall. The colors of his soul bled through the blocks Castiel had imposed since deciding to live among humans and not read them--especially the humans in his family. Something in Dean begged for reassurance without saying a word.

"James won't live the childhood you did, nor will the baby on the way, because neither of us will leave them," Castiel promised. "You're not your father and neither am I. We both want the same things for our children, which are security, happiness, love, and free will. Simply acknowledging that we don't want our children to grow up with fathers as distant strangers the way we did means we're breaking that cycle. James may say things from a place of instinct but it doesn't mean he'll be taking care of the baby the way you took care of Sam. Our children have two loving parents."

Taking it in, Dean rested his head on the pillows and turned his eyes toward the ceiling, pained. "I had two loving parents once too."

The true problem revealed itself then. "You're missing your mother," Castiel guessed.

"Yeah," he admitted after a moment. "It's weird. I didn't think too much about Mom for years and then I had s family fall into my lap. Then the diner and her food under my nose every day. Now I'm having another baby. Mom's never gonna know my kids. Sammy's either. I wish I had Mom around to ask questions. Am I bringing up my boy right? What if the baby's a girl? How do I bring up a girl? Other men have their moms for that stuff but I don't."

Castiel leaned over to Dean's side of the bed and grasped his face in his hands. "You're a good father, Dean. I'd never give up my work as an angel to raise a conventional human family if you weren't there inspiring me every day." He kissed his husband. "Your mother would be exceedingly proud of the man you are. I am."

Unguarded green eyes softened there before Castiel under his encouragement. Dean rarely let his guard down for other people to catch a fleeting glimpse of his insecurities, his suffering, or his heart. Since the security of marriage settled over him, along with the assurance that Castiel wouldn't disappear again, he slowly learned the art of communication. He was still Dean, of course, but the privacy of their bedroom allowed him to impart his secrets on Castiel. The angel never took that privilege for granted, though he was just as careful not to point out how far Dean had come.

*****

The conversation clung to Castiel all through the next day, even through the bustle of family helping them move into the new house. He watched Dean barking orders from time to time, still so full of piss and vinegar, yet nobody would know the crack in his heart by looking at him. It was in Castiel to comfort humans and fix their problems but he didn't know how to fix the broken heart of a motherless boy.

"Cas, I'm directing everyone to move your belongings by room and function," Timaniel said as he sorted boxes in the apartment. "It'll be easier to unpack with some semblance of organization."

"Good thinking," said Castiel.

Hetanel appeared with a toolbox. "Help has arrived! What am I dismantling?"

"Nursery," said Castiel, pointing down the hall to James' room. "And keep watch over Dean. He injured his back a few days ago trying to move furniture without help. Don't let him do that again. He'll listen to you, Hetanel."

"You got it." With a thumbs up, he disappeared into the nursery with his toolbox.

In moments, Sam and Demiel emerged from the back of the apartment carrying a cat cage and a guinea pig cage. The occupants squeaked and meowed their protests at imprisonment. Sam laughed and shook his head as he showed Castiel raised red lines along his inner forearm.

"I need hazard pay. Bixby got me," he joked.

Castiel examined the scratches. "I'm sorry about that."

"Don't worry about him. He's tough. I'm going to drive the pets and the fledglings over to the new house so you all can move things without them underfoot." Demiel relieved Sam of the animal cargo and went outside to collect the fledgling nest as well.

"Can you handle all six by yourself?" Castiel called after her.

"If I can go to war, I can watch six children," she shouted back.

Moving into the house showed Castiel exactly how much stuff he and Dean had accumulated together since moving into the apartment. He'd gone from an angel with nothing but a trench coat on his back to a married man with dishes for everyday and good dishes for holidays. The oddest part for him was the sensation of emotional attachment to many of those newly acquired possessions, especially when they carried some memory of James or Dean in them.

It went much faster than it could have with the help of their entire nest, plus Hael and Jeremy. Remaining behind at the apartment supervising the moving truck being loaded allowed Castiel to keep an eye on the outsider, though he gave no obvious impression of deceit or treachery. Still, it appeared that Sam avoided both of them whenever he could as he went about his work, helping Hetanel with the heavy lifting. Dean, on the other hand, made an effort to get to know Jeremy with friendly banter and casual questions about his background. It didn't seem right for Castiel to get involved yet though. He feared Jeremy would grow suspicious if he realized he was being researched and investigated.

Castiel rode with the second truckload of his young family's belongings over the new house to begin the supervision of settlement. Moving homes wasn't unlike military operations, he decided, and that meant he fell into the command role quite naturally.

The new house sat on a grassy stretch of prairie far enough removed from Sioux Falls that they could have real privacy but close enough to work and shop their without too much travel time. It came with a fence around the property, which was important to Castiel since he would soon chase two little ones around who needed constant supervision. He strode through the front door faced with a long central hallway and a bent stairwell common to most houses built in the nineteenth century. The floorplan hinted at the age of the house--built by a family at the end of westward expansion--but Dean needed all of the appliances and conveniences updated to the most modern terms. Despite the age of the house, it looked as modern inside as any new home built in any American cul de sac.

Castiel had plans for his new home though. As he and Timaniel organized the arriving boxes, he plotted out a vegetable garden in his mind to be planted on the southeast corner of the property. A winter garden in one bordered section and a summer garden in another bordered section would provide food for his family. He wanted trees and flowers planted around the property as well. The one thing about prairie grasslands that he didn't like so much was the lack of trees but he viewed their new home as a blank canvas.

Late in the afternoon, Castiel stood outside and observed his new back yard. A small presence joined him, quietly at first, as if testing whether she was welcome there.

"Hey, Cas," she said.

Castiel offered Hael a kind smile.

"You've got a great new place here. I certainly never expected to see an angel nest come this far living in the middle of humanity."

"I don't think any angels ever actually tried it before," he replied ambivalently.

"I suppose so," she replied. "I think I'm sad to leave so soon. The closer I come to packing up tomorrow, the heavier I feel. I don't think I expected to care about South Dakota still after being gone for so long." She heaved a deep breath and shuffled a foot on the grass. "I love school though. It's challenging and thrilling. I have one more quarter left this year, so I was thinking of coming home to South Dakota for the summer after finals. But um. Do you think ... am I welcome here?"

He'd wondered if she'd felt the tension around her but never questioned her about it. The truth was simple. "Of course you're welcome here. This is your nest. Your family. I'm sure Bobby would love to have you living at home for the summer."

"What about Jeremy?" She looked at him pointedly.

"Well…" he hesitated, "I think you'll have to talk to him about that, not me."

Hael nodded as if she expected that response, or perhaps as if she expected the hesitation in his tone. She pushed a brightly colored piece of hair out of her eyes and changed the subject. "Cas, I wanted to talk to you about your surrogate. Molly--is that her name?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Well, Dad told me that you and Dean were thinking about asking her to move into the new house since she doesn't seem to have much family of her own."

"That's true." Castiel smoothed his face into a blank expression, wondering just what Hael meant by getting involved in his little family's business. The nest would talk though. Dean warned him many times in the past about the way extended family had a way of sticking their noses into private matters through no real fault of their own. Families had a way of behaving strangely when it came to love and protection.

"I don't think it's a good idea," she said bluntly.

"Why?" he asked.

"She's carrying a child that's essentially not her own. Regardless of the logic in her mind, the selfless gift she's offering you and Dean, her instincts dictate that the little baby is hers. She'll never say so but she's fighting those maternal instincts every day." Hael paused and directed her gaze to an empty spot on the horizon. A barely perceivable sigh indicated an attempt at hiding emotional distress. "Asking her to come live in a house where her baby will grow up will be cruel. You must give her space to separate herself from those instincts so she can hand over the baby after she gives birth. Making her live among that baby's things won't let her separate her emotions from her logic. It'll confuse things for her even more. The merciful thing to do if you want to help her is give her the footing to establish a comfortable life after she gives birth."

Silence wafted in on the spring breeze as Castiel studied Hael's pensive profile and thought about her advice. They'd all been worried about her spending too much time around Evelyn, the fledgling she gave up, but nobody actually considered that she didn't want too much exposure to the little girl. Logic meant she knew she did the right thing by giving her fledgling to those who were better equipped to raise her, while emotion and maternal instinct fought with her daily.

"Do you understand what I'm telling you?" she asked eventually.

"I do," he said without elaborating.

She nodded. "Will you think about her needs?"

"You have my word."

Turning back toward the kitchen door of Castiel's new home, Hael said, "Thank you," and touched his arm as she retreated indoors.

*****

"So then Bean picked up the creature in those fat little hands of his and started to pray for its weird face!"

Gabriel and the rest of the nest roared with laughter around the fireplace in Castiel's new living room. He'd been telling stories about Castiel as a fledgling for most of the evening, which didn't really bother him that much, but that one brought a hot flush to his cheeks. They'd visited prehistoric Australia once and the wildlife seemed so bizarre that Castiel in his childhood thought the poor animals must have been sick or disfigured by some great tragedy. He'd been learning to pray around the same time as well. It seemed logical to pray for the poor ugly animals, which of course, as a grown mature angel then seemed quite humorous.

"And then, of course, there was the time I lost Bean for a while. When I found him, the little guy had himself firmly planted on the back of a wooly mammoth riding it around the field up around those Nordic countries now. He got that thing broken in like a horse. It was pretty cool but I couldn't say that since I was supposed to raise him as a responsible angel." Gabriel surrounded the word responsible with air quotes and that induced another fit of laughter from the gathered assembly.

"Sven," said Castiel in a quiet, reflective tone. "I called the mammoth Sven. I spent some time with the angels developing languages people were going to use later on and I liked how Sven sounded."

"So my boy keeping a menagerie of pets is really something he got from you," Dean guessed through a good-natured smile. "I knew it wasn't from my side."

"Hey!" Sam shot him an injured look. "I tried to get a dog every birthday of my life but you and Dad were always like no dogs in the Impala. I like to think my nephew keeps pets because of his Uncle Sammy too, besides his good looks."

More laughter filled the house. Mouthfuls of ivory teeth gleamed in the light of the fireplace blazing away. Beer and wine circulated the room for those humans and angels who enjoyed a drink once in a while. Dean passed on the wine bottle without sampling it but kept a beer for himself--the only beer he'd enjoy that night. Contentment cooled his thirst for alcohol. Castiel wasn't going to pretend like sobriety didn't bring him a great deal of relief.

Setting up the new house took up most of Castiel's attention as Molly drifted into her thirteenth week of pregnancy. Hael and Jeremy left for Chicago the day after he moved into the house with promises for Bobby that she would return for the summer after her finals were done. The conversation they had on the back porch stayed with Castiel even as he lost himself in more than a week of unpacking, scooting furniture around, and turning the new house into a home. Dean decided after some thought that she was right and it was probably better for everyone if Molly had her own space to cope with carrying a baby for nine months that wasn't to be her own. Hael's perspective gave Dean a bit more empathy for their surrogate. It softened some of his rough edges.

Little did anyone in the living room know that night that Dean and Sam were to leave in the morning. They were bound for Chicago to investigate Jeremy's background before Bobby let the guy back into his house for the summer. Only Castiel, Demiel, and Bobby knew where the boys were going and they intended to keep it that way for the time being. If Jeremy's stories of home checked out, there would be no cause for alarm. If not, then they'd decide how to handle it as a nest.

But Castiel could hardly believe it, sitting there in his new overstuffed cream colored chair. Gabriel, the archangel who raised him and the reigning King of Heaven, held court in his living room having finally arrived after missing the fledglings' birthday party the month before. Bodyguard Angels roamed the property. Castiel sensed their presence even though Gabriel hadn't mentioned them, but it came with the royal territory. At times it still left him stunned into silence that Gabriel did come around and took an interest in their family. Dean and Sam may have been routinely abandoned by their father but so had Castiel many centuries in the past. Part of him still expected another abandonment whenever Gabriel flashed a humorous smile and said goodbye.

It seems they had time together though. Gabriel arrived with more gifts and the announcement that if President Obama could take vacations, then so could the King of Heaven. He intended to stay like a human in Dean and Castiel's guest room for the week.

The look on Dean's face with that announcement, of course, was priceless.


	12. Chapter 12

"Dream if you can a courtyard, an ocean of violets in bloom. Animals strike curious poses. They feel the heat, the heat between me and yoooooooou...."

The angel bleating away in the shower hit a long note just as Castiel passed the guest bathroom door upstairs. He cringed and shielded the phone from that caterwauling.

Dean scoffed on the other end of the line. "Who's butchering Prince?"

"The prince of what?"

Deep, rockus laughter filled the phone.

"Gabriel's using the shower," Castiel said. "I don't know why. It's not like angels reliant on grace need to clean their vessels. He showered last night and again this morning. The singing though...."

"Eh, let the dude have fun. He's on vacation and the new house has kick ass water pressure." Muffled noises on Dean's end of the line suggested he walked as he talked, possibly indoors. Paper shuffled. "How's my little man?"

"I hardly have to do a thing with Gabriel here. They've bonded," he replied. "How's Chicago?"

"Crowded, noisy, and definitely not home. It's weird. I passed by the restaurant last night with Sammy--the one where Death fed me pizza, remember? Definitely creepy. First time I couldn't make myself stop for something to eat. I made Sammy go six blocks away before I got my appetite back. Hael walks around this city like she owns it though. I guess she's a city girl. I haven't talked to her and she doesn't know I'm here. You know that. Luckily Jeremy hasn't seen us sniffing around either, so I guess that means I haven't lost my edge."

The outer edge of Castiel's mouth lifted. "Of course you haven't." He crouched downstairs in the office, across from the dining room, and sliced through packing tape with a box cutter. "You're Dean Winchester. You're a force of nature."

"You're stroking my ego again," he retorted.

Castiel chortled as he unpacked books.

"What are you wearing?" asked Dean in a low, thick voice.

"Nothing. I'm completely nude," he teased.

"Oh, you're unpacking boxes in your birthday suit, huh? Hot. Watch out for the box cutter. I'd hate to lose anything valuable on that body of yours."

"Be serious, Dean," laughed Castiel, a burst of heat blossoming over his cheeks.

"All right, all right," he groused. "We've found some stuff out about Jeremy. More like finding nothing, I mean."

"Nothing?"

"Yeah. He said his father owns a car dealership where he works too, but when I went over there acting like I wanted to buy a car, the owner dude said he'd never had any kids. Jeremy does work there but the owner's definitely not his father. I managed to get the truth without letting the dealership dude know I was snooping around though. I don't want Jeremy to realize Sammy and I are here, especially now that we know he's lying about who he is. Sammy dug around and got his full name." Rustling papers gave Dean pause as he searched for his information. "Jeremy Daniel Batt. Thirty-years-old, born in Moline, Illinois, and a grad student at Hael's school. He's telling the truth about working at the dealership and going to art school, but I'm willing to bet everything else is a bunch of bullshit."

Sighing hard, Castiel abandoned the box of books and rubbed the tension from his forehead. They'd all suspected something was off but it shaped up to be worse than any of them expected. Instant regret flooded Castiel when he thought of how much Jeremy saw about the inner workings of their nest.

"This is," continued Dean soberly, "I'm pretty sure the guy stole his identity. Sammy found an obituary for a Jeremy Batt in Rockford, Illinois, from 2010. He's gone now to see if it's the same paper trail. If so, we don't even know Jeremy's real name."

"How did the Batt person die?" Castiel asked, remembering how they fought the apocalypse that same year.

"Um...." More papers rustled in the background. "Obit says he was visiting friends in Boston when that big quake hit. Killed in an apartment building collapse along with twenty-seven other vics. Says he was twenty-five at the time. Wait." Pausing, faint whispers sounded like he counted up the years. "If this Batt and our Batt are the same dude, he'd be thirty now."

"He wasn't human," Castiel blurted.

Dean made a dismissive sound in his throat. "Bobby said he tested the guy. He didn't have a bad reaction to anything."

The truth hit him all at once. It piled on his shoulders and dragged down the levity of his newfound happiness. "A fallen angel wouldn't. Look at Hael." It was true. A fallen angel was simply an average, everyday human being who once bore the power of the celestial universe. None of Bobby's tests would have caused a reaction. And if Castiel hadn't known the angel before, he wouldn't recognize the being fallen into humanity.

Silence. Tension bled between the phone lines as the awful probability became real for both of them.

"Why would a fallen angel lie about it to us?" Dean asked eventually.

"I don't know. Keep your distance but watch over Hael."

"Got it," replied the hunter. "I'm gonna go catch up with Sammy and tackle this thing from the feathered angle."

"I'm going to question Gabriel," said Castiel.

But he didn't. Not immediately.

Castiel decided he needed time to turn the matter over in his mind rather than stomp upstairs and tattle to his angel father. He pondered the implications of not being introduced properly to another fallen angel but realized the signs were there all along. Hael had indicated Jeremy took it well upon being told about her angelic history, which should have sent up red flags all around Castiel, but he'd been too lenient. Too willing to believe Hael was on a good road to human integration. Then, of course, there was the way Jeremy had carried his shoulders. It struck Castiel at the time as a military posture but was, in fact, the posture of a creature accustomed to carrying the weight of enormous wings for millennia.

The failure to detect one of his own, although no longer filled with grace, unnerved Castiel and he took it as a personal failure. As the day progressed, he grew more and more detached, going over the details on an endless loop in his mind. He decided he couldn't tell the rest of the nest until he had definitive proof from Sam and Dean, or a confession from Jeremy directly, even if unlikely.

Cutting up a red apple and mixing up a honey and rose petal dip for James at lunch shifted Castiel's thoughts. Perhaps Jeremy's secrecy hadn't come from a malicious plot. Given his history with the Winchesters, he admitted to himself that they did tend to jump to evil plots right away. It was entirely possible that Jeremy didn't tell them of his angelic origins--if that was the case--because he'd been afraid. Angels were created with the need for secrecy so ingrained in their internal makeup that showing the truth of their identities among humans went against their instincts. It was possible, he told himself, that Jeremy couldn't overcome his instinct there on Earth even if he was among his own species. In truth, Castiel wanted to believe it more than he actually did. He remembered everything they went through to have their quiet life, a nest of angels raising their fledglings on Earth, and few in Heaven had approved of it.

"Out with it, Bean." At the dining table, Gabriel slid a fork into a cake and sampled his favorite vacation food.

Castiel glanced up, helping James with his honey spread. "What?"

"You're such a bad liar. I know something's bugging you." Gabriel's first finger wiggled in Castiel's direction. "Don't make me death ray it out of you. I can do that, y'know."

He sighed. "All right. Let me ask you a question."

"Shoot."

"What's the situation like back home?" Are you well-received as the new King of Heaven?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Mostly. It took a minute. Why?"

"Can you get records to me if I needed something?"

The King of Heaven's head tilted slightly as he studied Castiel from across the table. His fingers formed a thoughtful pyramid. At first, Castiel thought he really was considering it until he realized the celestial monarch was playing. He pretended to be a scholarly therapist. Of course, he couldn't know the seriousness of the situation without being told but Castiel still found himself impatiently shaking his head.

A burst of laughter broke up Gabriel's impression of a therapist. He nodded. "Yeah, yeah, don't look so glum. Tell me what you need and I'll make sure somebody gets it for you."

James, ignoring the discussion, banged his spoon on his plate.

"The scribes keep records of all fallen angels and their circumstances, don't they?"

That question got Gabriel's attention. His teasing nature subsided and he inched forward in his chair having forgotten about his cake. "Yeah, those records are in the archives. What do you want with 'em?"

"It's possible one of them has gone rogue," Castiel replied carefully.

"Who?"

"I don't know exactly. That's why I need the records. I suspect this angel fell in 2010."

"During the apocalypse," replied the monarch. His wings stiffened over his shoulders.

"Yes."

Gabriel nodded slowly. "You're not gonna tell me more."

"Not at the moment." In truth, Castiel didn't know why he kept his cards so close to his chest but instinct somehow directed him. The fewer people who knew about Jeremy, the better, at least until they came to some kind of consensus. He softened it for Gabriel though. "I'm just trying to gather information right now because I'm not certain if my hunch is correct. Once I discover the truth, I don't intend to act without consulting you, Gabriel. You have my word."

His small eyes narrowed even more as if he tried to decipher something in Castiel's body language. An eventual nod arrived. "Okay. I'll get you the Scrolls of the Fallen for 2009, 2010, and 2011. There'll be a lot of 'em though. Lower-born angels were abandoning ship by the fistful when it looked like Lucifer might win."

"I understand. Thank you," Castiel said.

"Sure." A sharp nod and renewed light in Gabriel's eyes indicated his brain already switched tracks. He clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together. "C'mon, Bug! It's hot out there today. Grandpa Gabriel's gonna teach you to swim."

Castiel blinked. "We don't have a pool."

With a sly smile, Gabriel looked him square in the eye and made a show of snapping his fingers. "Now you do. How 'bout that?"

*****

"I miss you," Sam mumbled sleepily into the phone.

"I miss you too," replied Demiel. Her voice turned breathy and whimsical, surprisingly human.

Stretching luxuriously in the motel bed, Sam groaned and flung an arm over his head. He'd been on his feet all day and an unseasonable heatwave brought summer to Chicago like a conquering army. The air conditioning unit rumbled in the window and struggled to keep up with the needs of such a wall of a man like him who retained heat too much. His feet hung over the end of the bed but it felt too good to stretch. He arched his back, perfectly stripped naked to the waist and perfectly happy to be indoors for the night.

"Oh, do you have to do that?" Demiel chided.

"Do what, babydoll?"

"The sounds you make when you stretch are the same sounds you make ... um ... at the start of lovemaking." The last words smashed together in her mouth, rushed, as if speaking about it mortified her.

Devious chuckles rolled through Sam's chest. "Oh, yeah? Does that turn you on? What are you wearing right now?"

"Dude!" A pillow launched across the room from the neighboring bed and slammed into Sam's face. Dean pushed himself up from lying on his stomach.

"Shit, I forgot my brother was in here." Sam laughed hard from his belly. His knees drew up and he tried to shield himself as Dean threw an empty water bottle at him. It did little to kill his laughter.

"Sam! You did not try to flirt with me while Dean was listening!" Demiel shrieked on the phone.

"I did. It was a long day. I thought he was asleep!" he argued proudly as he deflected a flying plastic spoon with his forearm. "Don't worry. He's beating the hell out of me right now. You won't have to do it."

"I'm so mortified," she mumbled. "Now your family thinks I'm wanton."

"Honey, it's not the medieval period. Nobody uses that word anymore. It's no big deal to enjoy sex."

Dean climbed out of his bed and threw a clean t-shirt over his head as he said: "Gross. Listening to you fumble your way through phone sex is not how I want to spend my night. Cas is better at this than you. I'm going out for a beer. Check YouTube for phone sex tutorials for the poor girl, little brother."

"Hey, how's that Viagra working out for you? Get that impotence problem under control?" Sam retorted, holding the phone back from his mouth.

A prominent middle finger flashed Sam's way as Dean left the motel room.

Putting the phone back to his ear, it turned out that he was grateful for his brother leaving for a while. "Okay, he's gone. So what are you wearing?"

"Not happening now, Sam," she replied.

"Damn it." He flopped back on the bed, dejected.

Demiel's soft voice giggled in the comfortable quiet settling between them. He decided his fiancee had to be coaxed into the modern century in a lot of ways despite being such a powerful force in the business world. Angels were old-fashioned, that he knew, but there seemed to be internalized brainwashing in their species dictating just how wrong and dangerous sex was, which accounted for how long it took her to want that with him. When she finally did welcome him into her bed, her appetite proved voracious but she still had difficulty speaking about it. For that reason, he never pushed her.

Still, Demiel sighed. "We haven't been apart since we fell in love."

"I'll be home in a day or two," Sam promised quietly, in that tone lovers reserved for each other alone.

"You're still certain you want to marry me?"

"Yeah, definitely. Why wouldn't I?"

She hesitated. "Well, you're in Chicago seeing Hael and--"

"--Ah, stop right there. I'm not seeing Hael. She doesn't even know I'm here. And anyway, I'm here to find out what the deal is with Jeremy to protect all of us, which has only a little bit to do with her. One of these days, you're gonna have to believe me. You're wearing that ring on your hand, not her."

"I know," she acquiesced. "I can't understand why I say these things sometimes."

"Little bit of old jealousy, I think," he replied.

"Yeah."

"Yeah," he echoed. "Why don't you do some wedding stuff tomorrow? It'll distract you until I come home."

"I don't know if it's appropriate to think about a wedding with everything happening now. You said Jeremy might be a fallen angel. If he didn't make that fact known to us or even Hael from the start, he's probably up to something harmful. You know how fast things got dangerous for our nest before when the angels were trying to force us back to Heaven. Danger might be coming again."

Sam hummed a sound of understanding. "There's always something dangerous going on when you're married to a Winchester, babydoll. If we say we're gonna wait for a calm moment, we're never gonna get married. I don't wanna stop living because there might be something going on with the angels out there."

"You really do want to get married, hm?" It sounded like a smile edged Demiel's words.

"Absolutely. You and the twins will have my name and everything else I can give you."

"I love you," she breathed sweetly.

"That's my girl," he replied, deciding he had soothed her worries. "I love you too."

"Don't do anything dangerous, Sam, please," Demiel pleaded. "If what you've told me is true and Jeremy turns out to be a fallen angel, it makes him unstable. We don't know the circumstances of his fall. He might have been forced out--that happens sometimes--or he might have gone on his own cognition in rebellion. It's better to know as much as you can about him first before you do anything about it. Not only could he hurt Hael but he could hurt you too."

"I'll be careful," Sam assured. "I guess Cas gave Dean the same speech earlier today."

"Cas is an able leader for us. We're blessed to have him," said Demiel reverently.

*****

Two days later, Castiel received a blunt text from Dean saying they were driving home and they had new information about Jeremy. Good, Castiel thought. He missed Dean, of course, but he had information to share as well.

Three scrolls sat on the coffee table in his living room, as did a notepad listing possible candidates for Jeremy Batt's real identity. Gabriel kept his promise, though it took more than a day for Heaven's library to locate what he needed. Castiel's fledgling sat perfectly still on the carpet ahead, peering up at the flatscreen television mounted on the wall over the fireplace. Sebastian the crab led the creatures of the Caspian Sea in a lively musical number Castiel had heard so many times that he could perform it from memory but it kept James thoroughly entertained. A happy toddler allowed his father to work.

It proved easy enough to cross off names from his growing notepad list when he recognized them and knew their current whereabouts. Some chose to fall after Castiel was removed from leading his garrison rather than submit themselves to the corruption of a new commander. Others were forced out for suspicion of defecting to Lucifer's cause. A few chose to fall for very human concerns--love, loyalty, or dissatisfaction with the blind servitude of angelkind.

The list of possible identities for Jeremy took shape a few pages into the notepad. He wrote out the names neatly, anticipating a discussion at some point with the remainder of the nest. Crossing off the unknown names one by one required those angels to be tracked down and he couldn't do it alone. Twenty-six names piled up on his list. Each Enochian name represented an angel unknown to Castiel who had fallen from grace between 2009 and 2011. With some luck, others in his nest might be able to identify some of them and lessen the elimination process.

In all likelihood, though, one of those names in sharp black ink belonged to the liar, Jeremy Batt.


	13. Chapter 13

"There's a fucking swimming pool in my back yard!"

Grinning to himself, Castiel leaned over the kitchen sink and peered out of the window. "Dean and Sam are home."

"Oh dear. He doesn't look pleased." Molly leaned over the counter beside Castiel, watching the brothers appraise the new in-ground swimming pool through the wrought iron safety fence. She adjusted the loose ivory crochet bathing suit coverup draped over her second trimester belly. "Didn't he know about the pool?"

"It was kind of a surprise," replied Castiel, choosing his words carefully as his eye line shifted to Gabriel laughing with James in the crystal blue water.

She nudged his arm and took the glass pitcher of lemonade. "C'mon. Grab those glasses. Sweaty men on the road during this heatwave will be more cheerful with something cool to drink."

Castiel wasn't sure what lemonade had to do with Dean's aversion to decisions being made without him, but he loaded a polished wood tray with gleaming new glasses and followed Molly outside anyway. The kitchen door led to a flagstone path blocked by the pool gate to keep children from watery harm. Splashing drew Castiel's attention to his fledgling in a full fit of laughter as he kicked through the water. He sat in a floatie shaped like a turtle around his waist and Gabriel kept a protective hand on him, but the King of Heaven appeared to enjoy himself as much as the toddler. Earthy gold wings spread nearly over the length of the pool, relaxed and floating on the water's surface, while James' blue-black wings fluttered with excitement and glittered wet in sunlight.

"Deano! How's it going?" shouted Gabriel happily.

Dean appraised Gabriel playing with James in the pool. "Wow, you're really still here. Didn't figure you for the sticking around type."

A glimmer of dejection lowered Gabriel's eyes for a fraction of a second but he masked it faster than most could see. Castiel cringed inwardly, knowing he had confided in Dean over their young marriage about how he understood his sense of abandonment with John Winchester because Gabriel wasn't a very present guardian either. He knew Dean openly resented Gabriel for that sometimes, like that moment, but just the way Gabriel masked his regret, Dean masked his resentment. They each recoiled and went back to laughter and graciousness, having edged too close to a subject that would put Castiel in the middle.

"DD! Come in duh pool!" James called, his legs kicking happily beneath the turtle floatie.

Smiling and crouching at the pool's edge, Dean regarded his son. "I will, Squirt. Gotta get changed and stuff first. You having fun?"

"Gampa Gabe say I a tadpole." Fat little hands clutched the inflatable turtle head rising from the inflatable shell around his waist. "I jumped in duh water wif Auntie Demmie too. Was scary."

"You're pretty brave," replied Dean.

"Sammy! Looking offensively tall and male model as usual." Gabriel grinned as Sam rolled his laughing eyes.

Excited, Demiel dropped into the water and glided beneath the surface, propelling her body along with both her arms and the wings people couldn't see. She reached the opposite wall and launched herself out of the water in quite the athletic swoop that hinted at both her angelic strength and her former elite military training. As quickly as Demiel launched herself out of the pool, she launched herself into Sam's waiting arms, immediately soaking his clothes.

"Hiya, Dean! Sam!" It seemed Molly took it upon herself to take the brunt of Dean's disgruntled mood.

"Hey, Mol--woah." Dean's eyes bugged out of his skull. "You got bigger."

"Yes, pregnant women tend to do that," she laughed.

"You're good though?"

"It took four different stores to find a swimsuit that fit, but generally, yeah. I'm good."

"Oh." The corner of Dean's mouth turned up as if he wanted to laugh but he wasn't sure if he should. Instead, he reached out to her tummy. "Can I?"

"Yep, sure. It's your baby."

As rough, scarred hunter hands molded around Molly's expectant belly--not yet terribly obvious but beginning to show her second trimester shape--Castiel approached over her shoulder to observe. Dean's eyes focused with the sort of tenderness and protective instincts he'd displayed over James before they even came together as a family. That life, having children and roots, was the one thing he always wanted but only Castiel knew how deep that desire went in him. They held each other's secrets without fear of betrayal.

"Hey in there. I'm your daddy. Well, your big brother calls me DD, so I guess you will too when you get bigger," Dean mumbled to Molly's tummy while she casually sipped her lemonade and pretended she wasn't there.

A faint smile pulled at Castiel's mouth, which drew Dean's attention. He straightened up to his full height, returning the smile. As it always did when they spent time apart, being reunited made the rest of the world fade away, even if Dean had only been gone a few days.

"I need another popsicle."

"What?" Castiel snapped out of it and tilted his head.

Molly shoved Dean toward the house. "Pregnant lady needs another strawberry popsicle. It's hot out here. Go on. Cas knows where they are." She winked at Castiel and gave them another push to the kitchen door. "And get going on the sauce. I'll start the fire."

"What's she talking about?" Dean asked in a low voice.

"I may have told her about the ribs sauce you make and one thing led to another and everybody will be here in about an hour. Pool party. Barbecue. Those things that we've never done before." Castiel's thin, dark brow arched to convey what he meant about their angel nest having no experience with human social gatherings like pool parties or barbecues.

"You're just letting 'em go in the house so they can canoodle!" Gabriel teased from the pool.

"Canoodle!" parroted James.

The minute Castiel shut the kitchen door behind them, Dean sauntered to the refrigerator and grabbed himself a beer. "I go work a job for a few days," he recounted, facing Castiel and leaning on the island counter. "I come home. I roll up in my driveway. I'm really looking forward to having a beer, putting my feet up, playing with my boy later, and giving Baby an oil change if I feel like it." A dramatic pause punctuated Dean's speech. He glanced through the window over the sink, pointing his beer bottle at the family laughing and splashing together. "Instead, I roll up and find a whole swimming pool planted in my yard. I wasn't gone that long and I know we don't have this kind of cash." Green eyes cut to Castiel's face with the question. "So was it him? Gabriel?"

Castiel nodded. "He did it for James."

A heavy sigh punched out of Dean as he shook his head. He rubbed the skin between his brows. "Like I can't buy a pool for my own kid."

"That's not what he means," replied Castiel gently.

"No, but every time I see it, I'm gonna think of him waving his angel wand and dropping a pool there while it takes me years of sweating and breaking my back hanging drywall and cooking at the diner just to even think of buying something like that. I'm supposed to provide for my kids. It's my job. Is it because he feels like shit for disappearing on you? Because he should."

"Dean." He took the beer bottle away and brought him close by the hands. "Your anxiety is spiraling out of control. I can see it. Stop and take a few deep breaths."

Although Dean obeyed, he still protested. "You're not supposed to use your mojo to look in on me anymore. We agreed--"

"--We did agree. You're correct." Castiel nodded as he rubbed his hands up and down Dean's upper arms. "It's difficult not to see it when it's punching through my blocks. Now take some deep breaths. You're at home now and everything's fine."

The tension in Dean's body went without comment from Castiel, who rubbed his arms and sensation back into his hands. It was so unlike Dean to have a potent fit of anxiety that way. He needed to discover the reason but not before making certain the rigid man standing in their kitchen unwound enough to at least sit. A few silent minutes passed. Castiel's hands stroked Dean's arms in the most soothing way he knew, and continued the same path over his shoulders and chest. Finally, Dean began to relax in abrupt, yet slow intervals until he leaned closer and rested their foreheads against each other. He closed his eyes and reached around Castiel's waist. A loose embrace descended over their silence, calming Dean's nerves, and then he began resembling something like his old self again.

"I'm not really pissed about the pool," he murmured.

"I know," replied Castiel. He caressed Dean's jaw under the pad of his thumb.

Happy sounds of their toddler angel mingled with muffled, chatty voices outside and Dean averted his gaze to the window again, though he still didn't seem happy. Worry deepened the lines around his eyes, across his brow, and those lines brought out a sprinkling of gray in his stubble all the more.

"Dean, what's happening?" Castiel finally asked in an unobtrusive tone.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing everybody's coming over to use the pool for the day. I was gonna call a nest meeting anyway. We can't talk about all this with Molly here though." He rubbed the back of his head and looked at Castiel as if his brain hurt. "You're sure all the fledglings finished their molting?"

"I'm sure. Molly won't be able to see their newly mature wings any more than you, Sam, or Bobby can now."

"Is Bobby coming?"

A tiny smile twitched Castiel's mouth. "He's bringing beer and wine. Some of them--well, angels have a taste for sweeter things. Many find beer too harsh of a flavor."

"Like hummingbirds," Dean muttered absently, lost in thought.

"Hm?"

"Nothing." He woke from his trance and sprang into the task of beginning his secret barbecue sauce. "I dunno what we've got in the way of meat. Might have to make a store run. I guess you rabbits will want a salad or something, and uh, I think we've got enough potatoes for everybody to have one grilled. Damn, I was hoping to grab a shower and some shuteye. You wanna get that black pepper?"

Castiel knew it right away, the signs of Dean getting obsessive about one thing to avoid another. He knew he wasn't going to get much truth out of him so long as the secret magic barbecue sauce presented itself as a good distraction.

"Something terrible happened after we spoke on the phone," Castiel guessed.

Though Dean never looked up from chopping bell peppers on a glass cutting board, he nodded. "A band of rogue angels shot up a pizza place last night." His tone was entirely too monotone and casual for the news he delivered. "Sammy and I just boxed up our doggy bags and left about forty minutes before they showed up. They were obviously looking for us. Four innocent people got shot instead, including a three-year-old girl."

The color drained from Castiel's face. He felt it. His vessel's skin went clammy as his brain raced through the possible reasons why it happened and how tragic the loss of more human lives.

"Ang--"

"--Not now. I don't wanna rehash it 'til we're all together and Molly's way out of earshot. "Speaking of," he paused and took a mouthful of his beer, "you better get that strawberry popsicle out there to her. I'll get everything ready for the grill."

Castiel opened his mouth to protest but shut it again. There were safety concerns. Were they followed home? Did they recognize the angels? Had they seen them at all? And how did they know the Winchesters were in Chicago in the first place? A thousand questions filled Castiel's thoughts as he maneuvered past his silent husband to reach into the freezer, knowing full well that Dean wouldn't talk until he was ready. As much as Castiel hated to admit it, Dean was probably right not to go over every detail in an unsecured place where Molly might stroll in on them at any moment. They hadn't discussed whether to tell her about the nest or simply let her go on thinking the parents she gave a child to were normal, everyday American men.

He made it outside in a numb sort of fog, immediately seeking out his fledgling sitting on Sam's lap at the garden table shielded by an umbrella. They engaged in a deep conversation about the contents of James' sippy cup while Demiel and Molly sat nearby. One mentioned the benefits of lace-covered lace against satin. Satin, she said, photographed badly and made every bride look sweaty and fat.

Gabriel. Where did Gabriel go? Castiel glanced around the back yard.

Right here, Bean.

He turned, following the communication in his thoughts. There Gabriel stood around the corner of the garage rather casually in his neon orange swim trunks talking to four of his security detail.

What's the matter?

Six angels went off the radar.

Each hair stood on end throughout Castiel's vessel and he absently rubbed his forearm as he acknowledged the news but said nothing in return. He found himself going through the motions, as humans said, throughout the afternoon while the rest of the nest arrived with their fledglings, pool bags, and new swimsuits in tow. It felt peculiar playing along as if he, Dean, Sam, and Gabriel weren't aware of a rogue band of angels.

And of course, Castiel's mind analyzed every detail. He observed Dean painting rich brown sauce over ribs after making a store run, as he called it. Rogue angels meant angels in open rebellion against the current authority, he decided as he sat on the edge of the pool with his naked legs dangling in the deep end. Open rebellion, even in a small sect of angels, probably meant others meant to challenge Gabriel's new position in Heaven. He sort of expected that, if he was honest with himself, but he couldn't fathom what Dean, their son, and their nest had to do with Heaven's politics anymore. They were residents of Earth as were their fledglings, then scattered through the pool with excidedly fluttering wings, splashing with their guardians, and kicking the water through brightly colored floaties. None of the fledglings had even visited Heaven after they left in the first days of their lives, yet it seemed the angels in rebellion aimed to kill them too. The dead little human girl in Chicago proved that.

As the sun crossed into late afternoon, Demiel and Hetanel retreated into the kitchen to throw together vegetables. Dean declared the meat was nearly done but Castiel truly wasn't interested in eating, not that any of them required food but many had learned to enjoy it.

He decided he needed his fledgling instead. No one gave much notice as Castiel slid his hands around James' chest and lifted him from the lounge chair where he'd fallen asleep. The toddler made a faraway sound but hardly stirred. Wet dark hair stuck to Castiel's shoulder as his son pillowed his head, letting his angel father cuddle him close against his chest. He wandered to the farthest edge of the fenced-in pool garden and peered into the distant woods over the bars. James wore himself out swimming most of the day. He was likely to sleep right through dinner and that was okay with Castiel as long as it gave him a chance to hold the fledgling through his uncertainty.

Half of his instinct told him to take flight and hunt down those in rebellion and rip their graces to shreds in order to protect his nest. Yet still, the other half of his instinct kept him close to home on the defensive rather than the offensive. The muddled, conflicted sensation left him even more uncertain with the memories of the old days when he fought side by side with Sam and Dean so fearlessly. The stakes were higher surrounded by innocent fledglings and a human baby soon on the way.

Gabriel drew in close and silent until he said: "I've got my suit squad hunting down the   
rebels."

"They were looking for Sam and Dean in Chicago," Castiel replied.

"Is that so? Huh. Interesting." Casual yet thoughtful lines formed around Gabriel's mouth as he produced a strawberry popsicle and tasted the natural fruit. "Mmm, Molly's right. These things are amazing." A thought hit him suddenly. "Is this about the Scrolls of the Fallen you asked me for the other day?"

Castiel nodded grimly. "I believe so."

"You need to explain, like, now."

"I can't. Not here." Peering over his shoulder, Castiel tipped his chin at Molly devouring food on the other side of the pool with the others chatting and laughing as clueless and happy as a normal family.

"Aw man, you don't know who you're dealing with here, do ya? I'm the head cheese now. That comes with all kinds of neat powers. Watch this."

With the flick of Gabriel's wrist, a phone rang out in a sweet, cheerful tone. They observed Molly rise from her garden chair and dig through a white leather handbag. She answered her phone and, at first, deep concern etched her face until she nodded and reassured the caller. Upon ending the call, Castiel heard her announce to everyone that her sister had a flat tire in town and she needed help. Naturally, Bobby offered to help but she sweetly refused as she packed up her belongings and put on her shorts.

"Is there really a flat tire?" Castiel asked as he shifted sleeping James from one arm to the other.

"Yep. Safe part of town. They'll be fine," replied Gabriel.

The minute Molly pulled out of the driveway after a round of kisses goodbye, Dean nodded to Castiel and they gathered everyone around the two garden tables shaded by umbrellas. Gabriel made a casual appearance of leaning against the wrought iron safety fence around the pool but somehow Castiel understood his position as head of the nest couldn't even be usurped by the new King of Heaven.

He passed his son to Dean, which woke him and he rubbed his sleepy eyes, asking for a "dwink". That was the way of it for the nest. In spite of the need to discuss nest business, sometimes problems of dire circumstances, there was always an undercurrent of filling sippy cups, changing diapers or going potty since most of them were training, saying no-no, or dozens of other tasks with minding fledglings. Even Bobby kept Evelyn and Katrina on his lap while Sarah climbed his leg. He never admitted it but he had a massive soft spot for the little granddaughters as he called them. Castiel glanced around at their faces--Timaniel looking as serious and angelic as ever, Hetanel looking perfectly at ease in his human skin, Mael and Demiel chattering together in Enochian without even knowing they slipped back into their native language in that comfortable space. Then, of course, there was Bobby who, although covered in granddaughters, sensed the silent tension preventing Sam and Dean from laughing and eating with the rest of them. He knew. He always knew.

Breaking the bubble hurt Castiel but they needed to know, to be equipped for protecting their young. He remained standing, squared his shoulders, and cleared his throat.

One by one, faces turned up to his and offered their attention.

"I'm pleased you're all here today. We need to discuss ... well. Something's happened," Castiel said, not knowing where to start.

Bobby chortled. "Way to bring drama hour, Cas."

He only gave the remark a passing glance and decided to start at the beginning, where the blame truly lied. "I've let you down," he stated bluntly. "It's my job to protect the nest as a collective and it seems a threat made its way under my radar."

"Cas," whispered Dean over their son's head, "don't do that to yourself. Any of us could and should've seen it."

It slid past Castiel's consciousness, unwilling to take any comfort. "The man Hael's become amorously attached to has deceived all of us and possibly her too. We don't yet know how much Hael knows. It seems...." Flashes of more fighting, more bloodshed, and more unrest piled into his mind, giving him pause. "It seems Jeremy's a fallen angel. The name he's using now is Jeremy Daniel Batt, but we don't yet know his true Enochian name. Over the last few days, Sam and Dean were in Chicago looking for information about this Jeremy Batt, which amounted to the same lies we employ to conceal our identities. It seems the real Mr. Batt was killed in the Boston earthquake during the apocalypse and that's likely around the time that angel fell."

"Why wouldn't this Jeremy tell us who he is? We're his kind then," said Hetanel.

Nodding her agreement, Mael added, "And I really don't believe my twin would knowingly deceive her nest. Whether she lives here or not, we're still her nest and I don't think her loyalty instinct would disappear with her grace."

"You're rather quick to defend her when she didn't bother to come home for nearly two years," Demiel countered. Color filled her cheeks, realizing she sounded bitter, and chewed her lower lip. "I mean, I understand why you'd defend her. She's your twin. That's an intense bond, even among our kind. I understand." Chewing her lip again, she glanced at Sam and he slid his hand into hers without adding comment.

"Even so," Castiel said, bringing the discussion back on track, "this situation has gone from an odd curiosity to a full-blown danger almost overnight."

"What kinda danger? Get the guns danger or lock ourselves in the panic room and hope my house survives the blast danger?" Bobby asked. The wheels in his mind already turned--it was plain on his face as he mentally went through the circumstances of a hunter life.

Dean took over, speaking for the first time. "While Sammy and I were in Chicago, a posse of angel dicks way off the reservation showed up at a pizza place and killed a bunch of people."

"Did you get a look at them?" Demiel's elite combat training kicked in and she sat straighter in her chair. "I keep a stockpile of angel weaponry in my attic."

Sam shook his head. "They showed up right after we left."

It seemed odd seeing one of Heaven's best trained combat soldiers sitting there clutching a glass of lemonade and wearing a bright turquoise bikini that emphasized her glowing, bronzed Puerto Rican skin. Demiel could easily kill another angel with a fingertip, yet she enjoyed the feminine inclinations of some human women. Human men found her appearance deceiving, which Castiel had decided long ago was an unfortunate misogynistic flaw in the species.

"Obviously there has to be a connection between this jerkwad and the angels that wanna kill us. Nobody knew we were there. Not Hael. Not even you guys. If it was up to me, we'd hunt these dicks down right now but my brother thinks it's important to figure out why they're after us again."

"Because there might be something bigger going on," Sam said.

"And because Cas promised me he wouldn't do anything without consulting me first." Silent up until that moment, Gabriel peeled himself off the fence and took his opportunity to approach the nest. "My suit squad told me today about six angels leaving Heaven without orders and they're not responding to our calls back upstairs. Cas and I understood just now the connections. They're not pleased about me taking over what none of them had the balls to take over, so I guess they're taking it out on you gorgeous sunbathers."

Timaniel's head tilted. "Why us?"

"Because I'm the only angel Gabriel raised," said Castiel darkly. "Punish the King by hurting his progeny."

A thoughtful, analytical quiet came over Timaniel for a moment until he began shaking his head. "No, it has to be more than that. It's too risky to go after us if the new King's the true target. They know we'd alert Heaven's authorities if any of us survived."

"I agree," said Demiel.

Hetanel considered things as well, adding, "If it was as simple as deposing Gabriel, they'd make some kind of direct assassination attempt."

"How very Ford's Theater," Gabriel joked.

Standing, Hetanel gave off an imposing presence in the body of a Northern Cheyenne man even taller than Sam. And it was Sam that he acknowledged. "We must find the truth before we make any moves. If we took out these angels without all of the information, we run the risk of bringing more rebels raining down upon our heads."

"Then we need to identify the fallen angel using Jeremy Batt's identity," Sam agreed. "That's probably the key to the whole thing."

Reluctance and duty battled it out on Mael's face as she listened to the debate, caught between clinging to loyalty toward her twin and the established loyalty to her nest. She swallowed a mouthful of white wine that Bobby had brought along for the angels who enjoyed drinking sweet things. The alcohol fortified her decision, it seemed. "If this man Hael's been attached to is some kind of Trojan horse, then she must be questioned too. I'd rather do that myself. She's my twin. She's more likely to confide in me than any of you, supposing there is indeed something to hide. I still maintain she doesn't know a thing about him though."

"Fine. You'll talk to her," Dean replied, nodding.

"With a witness," said Bobby and it wasn't open for negotiation. "I'll get my phone tapping stuff out and we'll call her together. Hael's your twin but she's my kid. My daughter. Gettin' mixed up with lowlifes like him falls under my job description for the fallout and cleanup."

"This isn't your fault, Bobby," interjected Sam.

"Boy, when your li'l ones get older, you're gonna know everything they do is a result of whether you taught 'em well or not."

It was Dean's turn for a quieter, most sincere response then. "You taught us well."

"An angel so new to human life isn't going to have the best judgment either. I know a few that got tangled up in drugs and booze and stuff. Some of them never found their way out of it because they had no family or friends to help them. Hael's got a family but she's ... well ... I guess you could say she's rebelling like a teenager. I mean, she never got to be one. Why isn't that a possibility?"

"I think Hetanel has a point," Demiel said quietly, as if arriving at an epiphany.

"All right," said Castiel, "then we'll put Mael and Bobby on Hael's questioning. I need all of you to look at two dozen names on the Scrolls of the Fallen from the years surrounding the apocalypse. If you know who any of them are today, it'll narrow down our search for Jeremy's true Enochian identity."

"When you nail down the bratty Batt, I can have him dragged home by his ear," said Gabriel in his joking way, yet his expression proved just how serious he was about the threat. "I've got my suits out looking for my other runaways but I think they're expecting that from the King. They're probably burrowing underground like prairie dogs or some crap like that as we speak."

"Yep, probably ain't gonna weasel 'em out too easy," muttered Bobby around a sliced peach Katrina jammed into his mouth.

An uneasy calm followed and the nest slowly drifted into other conversation. They each seemed to decide without saying it aloud that family gatherings had to carry on whether there were threats or not. Perhaps they instinctively carried on for the sake of the fledglings. Perhaps they weren't so willing to go back to high alert after almost two years of peace, quiet, and consistency. It became a way of fighting back in itself--not letting the rebels destroy their sense of belonging and family. True, eyes cast sideways glances around the property lines from time to time, but they carried on with their toddlers and never let them sense fear. It occurred to Castiel that they really weren't afraid at all, he decided as he threw empty bottles in the recycling bin and brought out fresh drinks. No, they weren't afraid. They were vigilant and circling around their young as angelic instinct commanded.

Near sunset, Demiel snapped her fingers. Little Noah balanced on her hip immediately tried to imitate the gesture. "I forgot!" she declared. "I made a couple of strawberry upside down cakes. I put them in Cas' refrigerator and forgot all about them. Sam?"

"Yeah, babydoll." Sam came to her side and took Noah into his free arm, the other already occupied by his little shadow, Evelyn.

Demiel trotted into the kitchen door in a streak of turquoise and denim. With a fledgling in each arm, Sam began to look like an angel himself in the way Evelyn's newly matured wing wrapped around the back of his arm. Though Noah hadn't yet warmed up to him as much, he willingly waited for his mother guardian, seated on his soon-to-be father's strong forearm. Sam's head tipped down in conversation with the little fledglings he'd taken in as his own. Certain of not being spotted, Castiel sneaked a photo of the moment on his cell phone and made a mental note to give it to Sam on their next fledgling playdate.

"Cas."

"Yes?" He spun, startled.

Gabriel's tense expression suggested true uncertainty. He didn't cover one speck of that uncertainty with his usual humorous mask, and that startled Castiel even more. It had to be quite serious.

"I gotta tell you something. You're probably gonna punch me for it and maybe I deserve a good sock in the kisser for this one."

"Just say it, Gabriel."

The King of Heaven's jaw clenched for a moment as he studied Castiel. Then he spoke. "My suits reported in just now. They're starting to identify my willful runaway brood and one of the names...." He sighed and took a moment to unwrap a Tootsie Roll from his pocket the way a human man might have taken a shot for courage. "You weren't the only fledgling put in my care."

"What?" For a second, Castiel wondered if the ground actually shifted beneath his feet.

"I had one before you. I gave her the name Lamineal." His features clouded as if he hadn't spoken the name aloud in centuries. A heartbeat later, he shrugged and rocked on his heels "So it seems my own little princess grew up to turn on her king." It was an act, the casual shrug. Gabriel was in pain.

For the moment, Castiel couldn't reach through his sense of betrayal to see the anguish in his father guardian. Only one question stood on his tongue. "Why did you lie to me all this time?"

A quick flash of a despondent smile lifted Gabriel's mouth as if he expected that response. "Because the old regime took Lamineal away when she reached her maturity. She was created to be a reprogrammer. You know. Memory wipes on disobedient angels. You had a lot of 'em. Anyway, I was forbidden from ever acknowledging her existence--" his eyes shifted to Castiel's face, "--even to her brother. I fought to make sure you wouldn't be brainwashed in the same way when you grew up. I'm not as irresponsible as all of you take me to be but I don't really care what anyone thinks anymore." He shrugged, looking to the horizon. "I am the King of Heaven. Angels in rebellion against my throne have to be captured no matter how long it takes."


	14. Chapter 14

By morning, the revelation Gabriel dropped on Castiel hadn't settled anywhere comfortable in his heart or mind. He avoided getting out of bed even though he never slept, instead reclining on two pillows and staring at the ceiling. Even bright sunlight hinting at the heatwave to come outside didn't do much to brighten his mood. He thought maybe he could strap James in his stroller and take a long walk around their new neighborhood, but as soon as he got out of bed, he knew Gabriel would be lurking around downstairs. He'd want to talk too. Castiel wasn't ready to deal with the news yet.

He had a sister named Lamineal.

She was older than him.

She worked in reprogramming problem angels.

And she rebelled against their father guardian.

That was everything Castiel knew about the mysterious figure. It certainly wasn't the bond between siblings he knew like Sam and Dean or even Hael and Mael. He felt ... what exactly ... robbed? Yes, robbed of a companion that might have been a support system all those centuries of being misunderstood and an outcast in Heaven. A depleted sigh left his chest as he rubbed his forehead, actually feeling twinges of a rather human stress headache. The constancy of Dean's shower running on the other side of the wall provided unwelcome white noise for Castiel's thoughts to run free. He spent more than a year trying to learn how to trust Gabriel again and it felt, at least that morning, like the ground caved in beneath his feet.

Sudden silence meant Dean cut off the shower. He thumped around the bathroom while humming in a low voice. Wearing only a black pair of boxer-briefs, he strolled into their bedroom and fluffed wet hair sticking up like a porcupine.

"Hey. Figured you'd be outta bed by now," he commented.

Castiel only shrugged with one arm slung over his forehead. He had no idea what excuse to make, so he chose silence instead.

A light grin warmed Dean's features with a naughty impression. "Last night wore you out, huh? Wondered about it actually. You were kinda not there, kinda robotic I guess, but you look wrung out now." Terribly pleased with himself, Dean climbed over the foot of the bed and kissed lazy trails up Castiel's naked abdomen and chest. "I'm never gonna get tired of being with you."

In spite of his preoccupied mind, Castiel's hands lowered from his head and looped around Dean's shoulders. His hunter husband kissed his chin and throat with not a sexual urgency but the kind of intimacy only truly committed partners shared.

"I've got the dinner shift at the diner," Dean mumbled as he laid down with his head resting on Castiel's chest, tucked under his chin. "I was thinking we should go buy James a toddler bed this morning. He's two now. With the new baby coming, it's probably the best time to get him in a big boy bed so we can use the crib again for the little squirt."

"He's just a baby himself," argued Castiel.

"Not so much, babe. He walks--hell, he runs most of the time--he talks, he's pretty much potty trained. Face it. Our little fledgling's growing up."

Castiel rubbed his eyes. "Gabriel will want to go with us."

"Nah." Dean lifted his head just enough to kiss Castiel's shoulder. "Found a note on the fridge door. He's gone back upstairs to deal with the rebels before it becomes a full-on French Revolution off with his head thing." He leaned up, peering down at Castiel through intent green eyes. Morning sunlight brought out the freckles dotted over his naked skin still warm and supple from the hot shower. "What's with you, Cas? You're way too quiet, even for you."

"I have things on my mind," he replied vaguely.

"Such as?"

He didn't really even know where to start. Averting his eyes to the window was the best he could do under the frustration bubbling in his gut for being so unnerved by Gabriel's revelation. If his ... sister ... was in fact one of the six rebels, then it certainly put them at a disadvantage. It wasn't a detached political issue for her, he guessed. It was personal, and that made it far more dangerous.

"Cas." He gripped Castiel's chin and turned his face. "Talk to me."

A moment of silence spread through the room. Then, "Remember when your brother left to go to college? The loneliness you experienced? And then when you sought his help in finding your father and you were hurt by how well he did without the family bond?"

Dean nodded, though his eyes questioned just how Castiel picked out those exact sentiments from his secrets.

"Multiply it by ... well ... seven or eight million years," Castiel stated.

"You lost me...."

The difficult moment arrived when Castiel would have to say it out loud. "Yesterday at the pool party, Gabriel spoke to me about the rebels. His aides are working to identify them and two names came to their attention just before Demmie served dessert."

"Okay." Dean nodded, his face stern with a hunger for details.

"There's an angel called Lamineal. I don't know her. Nobody does, except Gabriel."

Brows knitted together and Castiel touched Dean's face, nudging him to relax. "How?"

"Lamineal was created before I was. He was her guardian father, apparently. I didn't know about her for the whole of my existence and I don't know how I feel yet. I'm struggling to sort through it. You know me. I'm not adept at picking through muddled, confused emotions." He paused with a punctuated sigh, collecting his thoughts. "I fluctuate between wanting to smite Gabriel for keeping something of that magnitude from me after we've been working to rebuild our guardian-fledgling bond, and being ... relieved, I suppose ... that I'm not a solitary fledgling after all."

As the news sank in for Dean, his mouth thinned into a hard line. He pushed upright, thick hands covering Castiel's chest, and he straightened onto his knees. A solid blast of sunlight hit his face and chest as if providing a perfect spotlight in his moment of protective anger.

"Why the hell didn't he tell you about this?" he growled. "This isn't oops I forgot milk at the store. You have a goddamn sister and he didn't tell you shit about it."

"I know. He was forbidden from telling anyone."

"Because that makes sense." Dean rolled his eyes.

"The authorities gave him a fledgling to raise, as is protocol, but when she--apparently she prefers female words--when she reached maturity, the authorities removed her from his care. She was created to reprogram disobedient angels but they never told him so to keep it from getting out to other angels. The reprogrammers have no identities among our kind and are forbidden from developing personal bonds that might hinder their ability to properly administer punishment."

"You mean torture."

"Reprogramming."

Dean's brow raised and he tilted his head down. "C'mon, Cas. You told me what happened to you. It was torture."

"Fine, it's torture."

Sitting cross-legged on the bed beside Castiel, he leaned back and reclined on the heels of his hands. His eyes squinted in the window's sunlight but he still managed to appear thoughtful as he turned everything over in his mind. For Castiel, he was tired of thinking about it. That was all he'd been doing since yesterday's strawberry shortcake dessert and it put him in ill spirits the more his brain circled around it.

"What's done is done," he said, sitting up. "I can't change anything about it."

"If Gabriel's other kid, this--this--"

"--Lamineal."

"Lamineal. Right. If she's busted out of Heaven now and gone with the rebels, then obviously she has some grudge against him," Dean theorized.

"Definitely." Castiel scratched his head as he circled the end of the bed looking for his bathrobe, finally finding it flung between the dresser and an overstuffed corner chair. He tied it around his naked waist. With some luck, James would sleep a little longer so he could scald himself in a hot shower.

"Okay," Dean rambled on, "then if we were targets--our kids too--then it reads like jealousy to me. She's making a target out of you because Gabriel gives you more."

"You don't know that for sure. It could just as easily be a political rebellion."

Shrugging, Dean conceded, "Could be. I just don't think it's a coincidence that we're targets when, number one, we don't even know her, and number two, we don't have jack shit to do with Heaven's politics anymore."

"Perhaps."

Thin patience edged Castiel's voice as he gathered clean clothes to wear after his shower. He still wasn't accustomed to wearing shorts but he'd cause a stir in that heat wave wearing his usual jeans and button down shirts. Just two weeks before, he bought himself two pair of ... what were they called ... cargo shorts and short-sleeved t-shirts in a variety of colors. Demiel made him return the first shorts he bought, saying they made him look like an old man on a golf course, but he didn't know how a bunch of pockets made him look better. Underwear. He forgot underwear.

"Babe."

Castiel rooted through the dresser drawers until he found what he wanted. He tossed his clothes over his forearm and headed for the bathroom, but Dean headed him off at the bedroom door.

"Babe, stop."

"What?" He sounded testy and short-tempered.

Dean pulled Castiel close and wrapped his arms around him. "I'm sorry this shit happened to you. It sucks, you know?" Though Dean rubbed his back through the bathrobe, it took Castiel a long moment to hug back. "I remember feeling like the rug got yanked out from under my feet when I found out my dad had another kid. Then Adam didn't want shit to do with Sammy and me."

"Yes, well, I don't believe I'll ever meet Lamineal," replied Castiel into his shoulder. "If she's not captured with the others already, she will be soon, and then she'll either be cast out or sent to Heaven's prison. That's the law."

"You never know," Dean said with a shrug.

*****

The idea to get out of the house and go searching for a new bed for James took more weight off Castiel's shoulders than he expected. Not even loud voices of children playing while their parents shopped dragged him down to the black mood again. Dean, carrying James in one arm, linked hands with Castiel as they strolled across the parking lot and into the store.

"You're holding my hand," Castiel pointed out quietly in disbelief. He stared down at their fingers knotted together.

"Yeah, well," mumbled Dean with a shrug, eyes scanning the store for the furniture section, "your crappy day's more important than me getting creeped out by people staring at a couple of dudes holding hands." He flashed a grin and squeezed his hand. "Roll with it, babe."

He offered a faint smile in return, saying nothing in particular.

The pair of them wound through the wide thoroughfares that splintered off into smaller departments, much like a Walmart, but everything in that store was geared toward babies and children. James pointed eagerly at the rows of toy aisles, naturally, but Castiel reminded Dean that they couldn't give in every time he wanted a toy. So they promised if he was good while they shopped for his new bed, then he might get a new box of toy cars.

"No," James said, shaking his head. "Barbie."

"You want a Barbie doll?" Dean asked, his brows furrowed.

"Dey swim. Dey hab a pool."

"Oh...."

Castiel let go of Dean's hand and touched his upper arm. He nodded, sensing his confusion about what he perceived to be a son desiring toys marketed toward female children. "All right. If you're well-behaved, we'll take a look at the ... the Barbie swimming pool toy set. We won't forget."

"Here." Bending down, Dean carefully put James' feet on the floor. "Go on and try out those beds over there. See which one you like best."

Unsteady toddler legs ran off into the maze of beds on display. He climbed onto a bed with a dinosaur frame built to entertain small children making the transition out of infancy. Joyful laughter bubbled from his throat as he commenced happily bouncing on the mattress, inspiring other toddlers nearby to do the same. Parents tried to scowl at half a dozen children bouncing on display beds but the tiny bubbles of laughter dragged smiles onto their faces no matter how they fought it.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked discreetly.

Distracted by racks of soft fleece bedding, Castiel only half heard him as he browsed. "What the hell was what?"

"Barbie pool," he hissed.

Castiel gave him a sideways glance. "It's nothing."

"It's a girl toy and James is--"

"--Not a boy," corrected Castiel patiently. "For now, his human body is male, but there may come a day when he decides female vessels are more comfortable. You know that. We've discussed it. Some angels prefer the female balance of humanity, others the male balance, and still many others are truly indifferent like me."

A slow nod and lowered eyes suggested Dean felt ashamed of his reaction. "I see him in his boy body and think he'll always be a boy."

"I know," said Castiel with a comforting nod, "but try to remember that James developing an interest in Barbies doesn't mean he'll shed this vessel for a female one. He might. He might not. The same is true for all of the nest. They won't know how they feel until they're more mature and certainly not until they've done their studies in Heaven outside of human vessels."

"Their studies?"

"Think of it like college."

"Oh...."

"Dean." He squeezed Dean's hand and looked him carefully in the eye. "Toys have no gender, you know. Millions of dollars in advertising make you think pink toys are for girls and blue toys are for boys. What does it matter as long as James is happy?"

"Okay. Got it." He nodded. "Maybe we should've picked a more gender neutral name."

Castiel shrugged as they walked, bending to press the mattress on a bed with a headboard and footboard painted in bright green and white. "A name is a name. Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds named their daughter James."

"You have to to stop watching E! so much," groaned Dean, rolling his eyes.

"No way!" Castiel protested. "It's fascinating to see how many demigod celebrities humans worship are actually demons, witches, gods, and goddesses. Very few celebrities are actually human."

Chuckling, Dean's huge body lowered onto a racecar bed and he spun a steering wheel on the footboard. "This is awesome. James! What do you think?"

"No, I want din-oh-tar, DD!"

"Dinosaur? Show me this dinosaur, Squirt," he said, swinging his leg over the bed like dismounting a horse.

James grabbed Dean by one finger and dragged him along with all of his two-year-old might. Following a bit of distance behind gave Castiel the closeness to his young family that he craved without intruding too much on the special bond between Dean and the fledgling always, it seemed, meant to be his own. Fluffy, soft, pastel things they passed attracted his attention but it wasn't time to shop for the new baby yet. That day was about their fledgling reaching a rite of passage on his way to growing into a fully mature angel.

A bunk bed suddenly loomed before them along a back wall surrounded by furniture in a similar style. Dark wood made up the frame, while a surprisingly realistic green brontosaurus wrapped around the two levels. The head rose up along a long neck around the top bunk and the equally long tail doubled as a set of child-sized stairs around the back to the opposite side. It looked like the dinosaur protected the children sleeping there, wrapping its body around them like a familiar animal to a skilled witch. James climbed the tail to the top bunk as if he'd been using the bunk bed since he was created, which brought a toothy smile to Dean's mouth. A child's possessions enthralled the man who was never allowed to be a child when he had a chance.

"You like this one, huh?" Dean asked as if he already said yes. "Why do you like dinosaurs so much?"

James shrugged as he played with the brontosaurus head.

"I think it must have to do with his first footie pajamas. Remember those? Green dinosaurs? When we dressed him for bed at night, he knew we were both in the house and he was safe." Castiel spoke quietly the way he was taught to do when recounting sacred memories. He gripped the bed, shaking the frame and testing the sturdiness.

Dean's brows knitted together in confusion. "How would he remember that? He was a newborn."

"I 'member everyfing," replied James rather nonchalantly.

It struck Dean hard and he stared up at his child without words. Castiel only smiled and rubbed his arm. He reached in front of Dean for the price tag to see if bunk beds were even feasible for their family since there was a new baby on the way. It was a delicate balance, he decided, making sure Dean felt like the true father he was without erasing the identity of the angel James would grow into one day. Not every angel remembered their first days as a fledgling but their boy appeared to and he connected dinosaurs with the protection of his guardians.

"I think it's a good idea," Castiel said, nodding at the price tag. "Two children. Two beds. If we have a third, we'll be ahead."

"It needs a rail thing up here to keep little kids from falling out," said Dean.

"All right, James. The brontosaurus bed wins."

Overjoyed, James flung himself at Castiel from the top bunk, shrieking and grabbing at his clothes. He flew a few feet, having forgotten himself in public. If Castiel hadn't caught him under the arms and stilled his batting wings in a tight hug, the fledgling might have flown across the store and terrified other shoppers.

Castiel decided it was better to hold onto James while Dean went through purchasing the bunk bed. He kept a ring of grace looped around his fledgling's waist, not that human eyes could perceive it, but it kept the excited child from flying off again. Not only was it dangerous to let humans witness a two-year-old in flight but his wings weren't yet steady enough to try it without proper supervision. Their nest hadn't had enough lessons to maintain good control.

The bed, it seemed, had to be delivered on a truck later in the week. It was no fly-by-night furniture store in which people took home boxes of parts and had to sweat and curse their way through assembling it themselves. No, they assured Dean and Castiel, they had staff to come and install the bed for them. By the end of checking out, Dean managed to talk Castiel into a matching bookshelf and dresser that would make James feel like he had a whole new room done like a dinosaur jungle. Of course, that meant the walls needed to be painted to match the new theme, which made Castiel quite relieved that he hadn't bothered painting the bedrooms in the first place. He sighed inwardly, thinking they'd have to start working on the small bedroom for a new nursery too.

"You excited, Squirt?" Dean asked as he ruffled James' dark mop of hair.

"I got din-oh-taurs," he said proudly, and followed it with the mighty roar of a two-year-old perched on Castiel's arm.

Laughing, Dean offered his own dinosaur roar as well.

"C'mon, Daddy," James encouraged.

"Yeah, c'mon Daddy. Give us a roar," joked Dean, nudging Castiel.

"I don't roar," Castiel replied with a wobbly smile.

"Oh, I think you do. It's fun pretending with kids. You gotta let go of your inhibitions and just play. Kids, man. They know the secret to life."

Together, Dean and Castiel loaded James into his car seat and climbed into the car with the brand new Barbie swimming pool set in a plastic bag between them. James had been well-behaved, after all, and Castiel was an angel of his word. Though Dean still seemed a bit uneasy about buying "his boy" toys meant for girls, he was working on getting his head around the idea. Castiel had to respect him for expanding his mind beyond internalized misogyny taught to him for the whole of his life. Their child opened his eyes to the wider world.

Castiel observed him drive the Impala, James strapped in the backseat, and smiled quietly to himself at how relaxed he looked. There were problems. When wasn't someone after them for something? But they were both armed and they were together. Of course Castiel had no way of knowing how big the threat was without nipping upstairs and talking to Gabriel, but he wasn't ready to do that. He wasn't sure if he was angry at life's circumstances for making him mature as an angel without the companionship of a nestmate or if he was angry at Gabriel for lying about it. Part of him couldn't blame Gabriel for following the orders not to say a word, but part of him stung with knowing his father guardian almost never obeyed orders.

He let out a soft sigh, not wanting to spiral through the unhappy thoughts again. It began to drizzle so he kept his eyes on the road along with Dean for an extra measure of road safety. The bigger picture, he reminded himself, was discovering what exactly the rebellion had to do with his nest and why Jeremy Batt was involved. It seemed pretty obvious to him that Jeremy was mixed up with the runaway angels even if he was no longer filled with grace.

Not two years before, Castiel himself was the leader of an angelic rebellion featuring angels who bolted from Heaven's control. He considered it from a new angle then. If he wasn't a villain in his rebellion--though everyone else perceived him that way--then perhaps the newest wave of runaways weren't truly villains either. They could talk. They could organize a meeting and listen to each other's positions, thereby avoiding any further need for bloodshed. Gunshots rang out in his thoughts and reminded him that some of the rebels had attempted to murder Sam and Dean, which, Castiel had to admit, added more than a few points in the villain column. If he could uncover the reason for their rebellion and who led it, then yes, he truly believed he could prevent unnecessary death. He was long past weary of killing and violence. Having a family softened him in all the right ways.

"I'm starving," Dean announced, slicing directly through Castiel's thoughts.

A subtle smile lifted the corners of Castiel's mouth as he looked over at Dean. "Drive-thru bacon cheeseburgers."

"Drive-thru bacon cheeseburgers," echoed Dean through a wide grin.

"If you get an extra one for your dinner break, Demmie won't complain that you're eating up all of the diner's barbecue," he suggested gently. "You do tend to eat a lot for a human of your size."

"More to love, baby!"

"Oh, for crying out loud." Laughing, Castiel rolled his eyes.

Dean laughed along with him. "Hey, I'm the master of the flame. If I happen to eat some, I'm testing for quality purposes! What? You don't believe me?"

Such freedom and laughter filled the Impala that neither Dean nor Castiel noticed an enormous dark shadow glide overhead. James pointed curiously from his car seat in the back but he didn't have time to get his question out before the road slammed and rumbled. A hard impact splintered the asphalt ahead, jolting the Winchesters out of their happy moment.

It happened in a fraction of a second. Giant swooping shadows flapped over the road as two figures swathed in black hooded coats landed. Dean slammed his foot into the brake pedal and Castiel flung his arm back as if it would stop James from toppling over the bench seats into the dash. Tires screamed on the shattered road until the faithful old Impala came to rest not five feet from striking the hooded figures standing firm in the road. Blinking and stunned, Dean's knuckles went white holding onto the steering wheel as his brain tried to catch up with his body.

Then the rage kicked in. He nearly kicked the driver's side door open and leaped from the car, roaring like the dinosaurs James so loved.

"What the fuck are you doing? Who the fuck are you?" he screamed.

"James, it's all right," soothed Castiel, realizing his fledgling wailed in fear. "I know, it's scary. It's going to be fine. Let me just go get DD."

Assessing the situation told Castiel that the situation unfolding outside on the road was more urgent than his frightened fledgling. James wasn't injured, not that an angel could be wounded for long, but he decided he had to leave the boy crying in the car for a moment. It burned against his father guardian instinct as he climbed out of the Impala but he needed to put himself between the violent intrusion and his young.

"Dean, are you hurt?" he asked in a predatory tone meant for the hooded figures.

"No, but these dicks are about to fuckin' regret coming near my kid!" Dean raged.

The hooded figures remained unmoved by Dean's territorial display. Both were angels. Castiel knew it by the hazy glow of grace tucked in their vessels' bodies even if they tried tucking their wings neatly behind their backs. They should have known angel wings couldn't be hidden behind the smallness and frailty of a human body. It told Castiel they weren't routinely posted on Earth. They had likely never left the confines of Heaven and ... one of them occupied a female vessel with bright yellow hair. He wondered.

"Are you ... Lamineal?"

Her eyes shifted to his face in an expression unnatural to human features, looking more like a bird curiously encountering something new. "I am not."

"Who are you?" he pressed.

"You are to receive instruction here and now. Nothing more," replied the second angel, in a man's body. "Our terms are absolute. We will not negotiate."

"Terms for what?" Dean growled. The silver length of an angel blade gripped in his fist glinted in the spotty sunlight trying to break through the drizzle. "You got three seconds before I gut you like fish. My boy's gonna learn what Winchesters do to assholes like you."

"The fledgling is not yours," hissed the female angel, bearing her teeth.

The male angel cut the air with his arm and effectively silenced her. He spoke to Castiel as if acknowledging Dean's existence was beneath his dignity. "We are members of the Order of the Fiery Sword. That will suffice."

*****

Filling the silence was never one of Castiel's concerns but he found the night too dark and too still for his comfort. An iPod dock played quiet tribal music on the kitchen counter near the bread box while he worked at the island counter. Hetanel had sent him a mix of music from his drum circle, claiming it had calming properties that Castiel would need after his day. Humans got a few things right. Unseen properties of tribal music did indeed have very real beneficial elements. He just thought maybe he was too on edge to be helped that night.

"As the night cloaks the day," Castiel murmured in Enochian, "so too is my nest cloaked from its enemies."

He passed the cool, clean silver angel blade over the curved surface of his wrist, leaving a beaded line of red blood. It only stung his vessel somewhere deep in the back of his consciousness but it didn't matter once the brightness of his grace erupted from the wound like a spotlight. A constant hum--his constant energy--blended with the bum, bum, bum, bum, of Hetanel's well-meaning tribal music.

"Blood to blood. Grace to grace. May my nest's bond forever remain strong and know a true family's embrace."

Six gallons of plain eggshell paint acquired from Bobby's storage shed lined up on the counter. Castiel's opened wrist hovered over each gallon. He let a few drops of his vessel's blood spill into each gallon, and then a small measure of his grace gave the paint a luminescent glow.

"Shield my nest from harm."

Castiel's Enochian hadn't gotten rusty in his time spent living away from Heaven and that gave him comfort. His abilities were still there. He was still a powerful angel able to smite with the flick of his finger if he chose.

"Daddy...."

The tiny, sleepy voice yanked Castiel out of his work. Naked little feet padded across the tiled kitchen floor, dragging a blanket behind him, and rubbing his green eyes. He squinted up at Castiel just as he covered his wrist and healed the flesh wound to stop his child from seeing anything else frightening that day. Although the little fledgling was the picture of sleepiness in his Batman t-shirt and training underwear, his eyes betrayed the things weighing heavily on his mind.

"James, did you crawl out of Daddy's bed and all the way downstairs by yourself?"

His fledgling nodded.

Castiel rounded the island counter and picked him up along with his blanket trailing from one iron fist unwilling to let go. Saying nothing, James linked arms around his father's neck and buried his little face against his shoulder. Neither of them said anything for a while there in the dimly lit kitchen as Castiel rubbed his back and swayed as he meandered.

"Did you have a bad dream?" he asked eventually.

"Yeah," James replied in a small voice.

"About the angels in black we saw today?"

"Yeah." His voice retreated deeper within as if afraid to say it aloud.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No." And then he whimpered.

"Okay," replied Castiel, deciding not to pressure him. "Remember you're always safe in this house. DD and I will never leave you alone with those you don't know already. In fact, come look at this." He shifted James more to one side and brought him to the island for a glimpse of the paint cans. "I just put my blood and grace into this paint. All of your aunts and uncles will use it to paint sigils in their houses and it'll hide all of us from bad angels like the ones we saw today."

Wisdom beyond James' years shone through his green eyes as he leaned forward in Castiel's arms and studied the paint. Angels could see the glow of white-blue grace swirling through the eggshell color but humans would barely perceive minor discoloration from his blood drops.

"What a sigil?" questioned James.

"It's a drawing of a spell," said Castiel, uncertain of how to explain it further.

"Magic," the child supposed.

"Yes, magic used with blood or grace."

At the front of the house, someone jiggled a key and let themselves in the door. Castiel leaned to the left and peered down the dark hallway into the living room to see who arrived. He didn't expect Dean home until his shift at the diner ended at eleven, both having decided to continue with their routine rather than let the Order of the Fiery Sword believe they intimidated the nest.

"Cas?" It was Sam's voice.

He relaxed his fight posture. "Kitchen," he replied.

Heavy boots tracked through Castiel's new house and Sam's enormous shape materialized from the shadows. "Hey, guys," he said cheerfully, though his eyes displayed nothing of that light mood. "What's up, James?"

"Unkie Sam," the fledgling clapped, truly happy and bounced back from his bad dream.

"Did Dean send you?" Castiel asked.

"Yep. I'm crashing on your couch," replied Sam as he pulled a computer bag off his shoulder and then held out his hands for James. "What are you still doing up, buddy?"

"Bad dweam."

"Oh, that's not good. Wanna camp out with me on the couch tonight?"

James nodded eagerly and Sam motioned for Castiel to follow them into the living room. Overstuffed comfortable furniture surrounded a fireplace that might have comforted James if South Dakota wasn't in the middle of an early season heat wave. He watched Sam get his fledgling comfortable on one end of the couch with his ever-present blanket tucked around his legs. James didn't seem ready to sleep but as soon as Bixby, his black cat, jumped on the couch and curled up beside him, the troubled fledgling grew content with stroking silky fur.

At least until James settled, Sam and Castiel remained in the living room with him talking quietly over mundane things with the television on in the background. Neither seemed to want to bring up the black hooded elephant in the room until Bixby lulled her young master to sleep again. After half an hour, James began to drift.

"What happened today?" Sam asked quietly.

Castiel's head tilted inquisitively. "Didn't Dean tell you?"

"Yeah, but he has a habit of downplaying stuff. If I'm gonna help identify these angels, I need the kind of detail you usually give."

"I see." Leaning forward in his expertly cushioned chair, Castiel folded his hands over his lap and began recounting the day. "We took James to order his new toddler bed. Nothing was amiss in the store or in the car afterward. It was sprinkling outside but the rain wasn't bad enough to hinder Dean's driving. He said he was hungry. I suggested bacon cheeseburgers and we started laughing about how much he eats every day. Then...."

Sam peered down at James with the purring cat wound up in a ball together. "He's out light a light. Go ahead."

Nodding, Castiel continued. "I believe they flew overhead without care for other humans who might have seen them. There were two angels--one in a male vessel and one in a female vessel. They wore black coats with hoods. I'd say they resembled the man in the movie trilogy Dean likes with the oracle--"

"--The Matrix."

"Yes."

"So they looked like Neo with hoods."

"Yes."

"Wow, that's not cheesy at all." Sam rolled his eyes, amused. "So then what happened?"

"They dropped from the sky right in front of us on the road, which made Dean slam his brakes. I think it did some damage to the Impala. But since James was with us in his car seat ... well ... you know Dean."

"Yeah." Sam nodded gravely.

"I knew there were six angels missing from what Gabriel told me, so I asked the female if she was one of the missing by name."

"Your sister."

Pausing, Castiel's eyes flashed to Sam's face. "Dean told you that too."

"He thought it'd be meaningful in research, not to spill your secrets before you're ready. Trust me, nobody else knows and they won't know 'til you say so." Sam motioned for him to keep going with the bizarre story.

He nodded. "Well, she denied being Lamineal. It was difficult to gain useful information while Dean's rage spiraled but they identified themselves by the Order of the Fiery Sword. I couldn't get direct names out of them. I haven't heard of this order either because angels don't organize in that manner. We were part of the larger collective. Splintering off into smaller groups would inevitably lead to infighting, so congregating in those types of groups was forbidden long ago."

"Sounds like when slaves were forbidden from congregating in groups two hundred years ago," Sam commented.

"A bit similar, yes," admitted Castiel with a shrug. "Because these rebels have organized themselves in such a specific way, it lends to the idea that they're modeling themselves on humanity. Naturally, that begs the question of who among them has been exposed to human history enough to think of beginning a secret order to garner loyalty and support for the cause."

"Jeremy Batt is my guess," Sam said.

"Mine as well," agreed Castiel.

"What exactly are they after then?"

Castiel slowly rubbed his hands together as if it aided his memory. "They spelled out a very clear ultimatum. I am to give up my life here in Sioux Falls and return to Heaven with the other angels and our fledglings. If I don't comply by the summer solstice, they intend to expose us for what we are before all of the humans here. Being humans, of course, they're not likely to absorb such a revelation well. Exposing an angel's true nature to humans is the greatest crime among our kind, aside from one angel murdering another. They're counting on Sioux Falls chasing us out of town with pitchforks and torches, and as the stories spread, we'll be notorious no matter where we go."

"So you either go back to Heaven voluntarily or they're hoping to force you into it."

"Exactly."

The knowledge turned over in Sam's mind a few times. Castiel watched him try to work his way through it. His face contorted, scrunched, and he shook his head. "I don't get it. What's the point? You have Gabriel's blessing to keep your nest where you want it as long as you don't use your powers. What do they care?"

"They're a conservative, traditionalist sect," Castiel explained. "Judging by the awkward language they used, I'd say not one of them has had an assignment on Earth. Angels with such a limited scope of the universe tend to cling to the old ways. Progressive leadership from those like Gabriel is seen as sinful. They can't tolerate the idea of fledglings being raised among humans because it means the old ways will truly die out. Causing problems between Gabriel and us will only make him look like a weak King too. If we're drawing too much unwanted attention, they'll use it to prove to other moderate angels that the new king's throne must be overthrown. The more we fight, the more angels might join this strange order." In saying order, he framed the word with air quotes.

"Hmm," Sam mumbled thoughtfully.

Castiel leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs. "The only thing I know for certain is I'm not breaking up my nest." He spread his hands, palms upturned. "Exactly how that plays out remains to be seen but being a Winchester has taught me family is the most important thing in life. This is my family. This ridiculous Order of the Fiery Sword can't touch that truth."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a wee bit short because I had family in my house today. The next chapter will be much longer and more action packed.

Following gritty guitar riffs around the side of the house to the garage brought Castiel to Dean crammed under the front of Impala. A foot tapped the driveway in time with the same music he'd been listening to as long as Castiel had ever known him. Castiel crouched at the Impala's headlight, though he couldn't see most of his husband under the car.

"Dean?"

The muffled singing under the car stopped. "Yo, babe!"

"Aren't you sweating a lot in these clothes? We're in the middle of an unseasonal heatwave." As he spoke, Castiel tugged on the heavy denim encasing Dean's leg. "You should wear the cargo shorts Demmie selected for me."

"Can't. Your waist's smaller than mine." Metal clanked. A wrench handle stuck out from under the car and a greasy hand groped the driveway for a new mechanical part still in the packaging. "I'm fine. I don't wear shorts. Weather's bound to break any day now and it'll cool off 'til mid-June."

"Stubborn," muttered Castiel, turning up his face to the crystal blue sky with the blazing sun burning a hole through the cool shade.

Ignoring the remark, Dean slid out from under the Impala on some flat contraption on small wheels. He sat up and grabbed a rag just as greasy as the whole of his clothes and wiped his hands, not that it made much of a difference. Dark grease streaks covered his thighs and slicked across his gray t-shirt as well as marking his face and arms. He'd been changing the oil and repairing damage to the brakes done when they nearly drove into the angels from the Order of the Fiery Sword.

Every time Dean worked on the Impala and became greasy and sweaty, it rendered Castiel incapable of coherent thought for a time, making him feel like a vapid teenage girl in the face of a delicious boy. Castiel squinted and tilted his head a bit, urging himself to get down to business rather than pondering how many cars driving by might see him taste Dean's chest. He wondered if all humans lost their train of thought in moments of faint carnal urges or if it was just yet another muddled emotion that he hadn't picked his way through yet. Somehow it seemed like a question for Hetanel and his many girlfriends. He filed that conversation away for later.

"Cas, are you in a heat coma?" joked Dean, leaning toward him.

"No," he sputtered. "Uhm, I'm going to deliver the paint and see Hetanel about building the tiers for my garden. Can you watch James?"

"Yeah, where is he?"

Castiel gestured over to the front yard where James, stripped to bright red shorts, ran through the sprinkler. "Take him to the park. He needs to keep interacting with human children before we have one."

Nodding, Dean agreed quite soberly as he worked the grease off his fingers.

"Don't feed him until you've washed up," added Castiel, eyeing his black hands.

With a chuckle, Dean folded his legs and pushed himself to his feet. "I ain't new at this dad thing. You're getting to be as nitpicky as an uptight mo--"

"--Don't you dare." A smirk threatened one side of Castiel's mouth. He stretched up to his full height as well, and then leaned in for a peck on the cheek. "See you for dinner."

"Date night," reminded Dean.

"I'm looking forward to it. Wait." Castiel needed more, perhaps a tease for later, and he grabbed Dean's upper arms, pulling him in for a harder kiss. Their mouths crushed together and the shock of it stiffened Dean for a second but his hand soon clutched the back of Castiel's head. Tasting hard work on him made it all the more intoxicating. Castiel was reluctant to let go but only James playing in the yard and people driving by prevented him from tossing Dean over the Impala hood and tasting the hard work all over his body.

When they finally broke apart with a wet pop of their lips, Dean staggered just a bit. "What got into you?"

Castiel shrugged with a faint smile and trekked further down the driveway to his own red car parked on the curb. He waved over his head, amused that he left Dean as agitated and bewildered by the kiss as he was every time he watched him work on the Impala. It was only fair.

"James, be good for DD. I'll return in a few hours," he called to the toddler with sprinkler water glistening over his blue-black wings.

The child raised up and gave an exaggerated wave. "Bye-bye, Daddy!"

Delivering the paint infused with the protection magic from his grace proved exactly why it was necessary to keep keys to everyone's home in their nest. The more they assimilated into earthly society, the less they remained home, even when they weren't working at the diner. He picked his way through each apartment, careful not to disturb anything or invade privacy too much as he left a paint can on kitchen counters.

A pair of very masculine jeans left on Mael's living room floor suggested she was seeing someone romantically, which made Castiel anxious. He had to remind himself that she wasn't her twin and hopefully had more wisdom than Hael about new relationships. In the same building, Timaniel's apartment seemed off too like he'd been entertaining guests. Castiel couldn't quite put his finger on it but didn't want to pry, so he made his way to the kitchen counter just as he had in Mael's home. There, he spotted a note left on the dry erase board mounted on the refrigerator door.

_Thanks for last night. See you Saturday. XOXO, Kenny_

"Oh," mumbled Castiel aloud, eyebrows raised.

Timaniel's shyness and disinterest in socializing wasn't accurate at all. He was seeing a man. Kenny. Curiosity got the better of Castiel and he tried to picture what Kenny might have looked like and whether he was good with Timaniel's little girl. Pride swept through him, realizing that although the quietest member of the nest rarely confided in anyone, he clearly learned about his tastes and needs as a being living in humanity. It came as such a relief to Castiel that who he assumed to be the most resistant angel in his nest had quietly immersed himself into humanity on his own terms. No, he wasn't disinterested. He was independent and part of Castiel reasoned that he could survive more tribulation than some of the others with that kind of independent spirit.

Leaving the apartment just the way he found it, Castiel got back into his car with a little smile playing his lips. He wanted nothing more than to tell Timaniel how pleased he was but that meant letting on how he saw something completely not his business. He'd have to wait for Timaniel to open up on his own.

The last stop before heading to the diner was Hetanel's little house close to the center of Sioux Falls. He had been sharing the apartment with Timaniel for more than a year until he decided apartment life stifled him. And besides, he'd said, there were several Lakota and Dakota families living in the new neighborhood he chose. It seemed important to him that his fledgling be raised in indigenous culture even if they weren't technically human. Both he and Katrina looked completely indigenous and he planned to use his earthly life to fight for their rights. Immersion with the people and loving them was one of his highest priorities, although he'd been working his assignment among indigenous people for longer than any of them remembered.

It was a simple ranch house with a carport rather than a garage but it was all Hetanel said he needed with it just being him and Katrina. The yard made up most of the property and a large above-ground pool fit into a hole in the decking that he'd just finished a few weeks before. A bulky green RAM truck parked in the driveway told Castiel that Hetanel was home. He grabbed the second to last paint can from the backseat and headed to the front door.

"Hey, Cas! C'mon in. Katrina just got up from her nap," said Hetanel when he opened the door.

"I brought your sigil paint," Castiel said.

"Oh, great. Thanks." He took the can and left it on a hall table near the door. "You hear anything new from the glorious Order of Flaming Shit?"

Laughing, Castiel wiggled his fingers at Katrina sitting on the living room floor with a dollhouse. "No, nothing new. They told us their terms and I don't like those terms, so I suppose now I'm waiting for war. My goal is to try and reach out for reason and negotiation first though."

"Ehh," hissed Hetanel with a sour face as he sat on the sofa, "I doubt you can reason with radicals. I'll back you up in any event."

Castiel nodded gratefully. "To be honest, having you as my lieutenant is better for me. Dean is my partner in every aspect of life, yet I'm often distracted by worry when we fight together. Too much distraction from me will put all of us in danger, including the fledglings. I'll never tell him so, of course, but I think it's important to have you in a close position. You're more than capable and you know how to predict what I'll do for the nest in dangerous situations. This doesn't diminish Dean's role at my left but I feel I need someone a bit more impartial at my right, like you."

A reverent nod dipped Hetanel's strong features down. "It's an honor to fight with you, brother."

"Well," replied Castiel with a light shrug, "I hope to avoid fighting altogether. But just in case."

"Just in case," Hetanel agreed. "Have you heard anything from Gabriel?"

"No, I've been avoiding him more than I should but I needed time to work my mind around the bomb he dropped on me. I must contact him tomorrow since we've been tracked by the rebels. I just ... needed a little time."

"The bomb he dropped on you?"

So Sam hadn't told anyone after all, just as he said. Castiel sighed and leaned back into the comfortable chair as if the weight of everything pushed him down too hard. "You know there are six rebels, I think. Probably more if there's a whole order forming to force the return to our old ways. Before Gabriel went home to attend to the rebellion, he warned me about the identity of one rebels. It seems he raised another fledgling before me who was groomed to be a reprogrammer, which meant, as you know, that he was forbidden to discuss it. Now, of course, he's King and can do as he pleases but I think he's suffering a bit of shock that one of his own has turned so far against him."

"And us," Hetanel added darkly.

"And us," Castiel confirmed.

"This is certainly unexpected. I can't imagine what you must be enduring because of this news," he mused in disbelief.

"I'm getting through it." His eyes lowered to Hetanel's young fledgling bending her doll's legs to sit on the sofa in the dollhouse living room. "It certainly won't affect my position as head of our nest. My loyalty is to our fledglings. No one will make me break us up, not even a sister I never knew."

"Do you think you'll ever see her?"

The side of Castiel's mouth made a clicking sound as he shook his head. "I don't think so. We don't know each other, not like the bonds in our nest or the human sibling bond Sam and Dean enjoy." He turned his hands up. "I don't see the point."

"Except, at the end of the day, you have a sister."

It was true, of course, but Castiel couldn't unlock that corner of his brain. He shoved her in the back, near the moment in his youth when Gabriel disappeared, forcing him to mature overnight. He'd never properly dealt with it according to Sam, although he had forgiven Gabriel when James was a tiny baby. Dealing with abandonment and isolation, he learned after living in humanity, had to happen in two stages: external and internal. With Gabriel, he had dealt with it externally and released the ghost but he still felt the serpent curling around inside, constricting his sense of security when everything seemed okay. Not one ounce of him, external or internal, was prepared to deal with having a sister called Limaneal.

Ever the intuitive one, Hetanel studied Castiel for a moment. "You know, a good cleansing might help you find your center in all this."

"A cleansing?" Castiel's nose wrinkled.

A knowing, yet quiet smile creased Hetanel's mouth. "Sam joins us once a month. It helps him. Just come to our next gathering at the end of the week. You'll see."

"Okay," he agreed, voice laced with scepticism and reluctance.

Hetanel raised and leaned forward, hands knotted between the wide divide between his knees. "What would you have me do in the meantime?"

"Have you still got friends among our kind?" probed Castiel in a conspiratorial tone lowered for discretion. "Because if so, I'd like you to make inquiries about the rebels as soon as possible. I need to know who they are and how they formulated into this Order of the Fiery Sword. They must be silent, any friends you have, because at the moment, they have the high ground. They know more about us and we need to turn the tables."

"Agreed." The way Hetanel's dark face surrounded by long black hair fell and considered the mission, it looked as if he'd held councils of war in the past. "I have a few friends in Heaven. At first I had none but some have come around since the new regime came into power. They might know something."

"Good, good," Castiel replied with hope. "Tell me, Hetanel. When did you last see action? I know that look in your eye."

The angel bled through his Northern Cheyenne vessel a little more with that question. His dark eyes passed over the innocence of his young fledgling and lifted to Castiel's face. "I was a colonel in the first civil war, the one Lucifer waged for power. My commanding general was inept--I can say so freely now without immediate execution--and my brigade was sent on a charge at a stage early in the war. Lucifer knew we were coming. All of the soldiers under my command were decimated. Not one survived." Hetanel's eyes glazed over with the same trauma Castiel had seen in countless soldiers, human and angel alike. He stared at his fingers and continued, saying, "I was reassigned after I recovered from my wounds. They sent me to the rear where I assisted medics."

"Your grace still bears scars," Castiel observed.

"Yeah," replied Hetanel barely loud enough to perceive. He plunged into grief Castiel had never before seen, but after a moment, he shook himself and raised up again. "I'll summon my old friends after I put Katrina down for the night. I should have an answer for you one way or another by tomorrow night, I think. They either know something or they don't."

"Great. I left paint for protection sigils at the apartments and I still need to go drop off the last can at the diner." He rose from his chair. "Somehow I need to get sigils around Molly but I haven't figured out how yet."

"Have you considered telling her the truth?"

Castiel's head inclined to one side. "About what? About who we are?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know. I'd never do that without discussing it with the whole of our nest first. Even so, I'm not certain she'd take it well. You know how humans get when faced with a living representation of their unknown mysteries."

A knowing nod answered the point. Hetanel replied, "We ought to discuss it for the good of the nest. If we don't tell her and the Order discovers her existence, it suddenly makes her a liability to the rest of us. You and Dean would fight to the death to protect your unborn child and rightfully so. Perhaps if she's told the truth, she can be brought into our fold and better equipped to protect herself and the precious child she carries."

"You could be a politician with your ability to convince people of things they're reluctant to try," replied Castiel through a wry smile.

Hetanel matched his smile with one of pride. "Call it rehearsal for when I begin lobbying the government for better indigenous rights. I'll never stop until our women are protected from an unfeeling public when they go missing, get raped, or get murdered without an upward glance from the police. Your unborn child deserves a safe world without threat from rebel angel attacks and my daughter deserves a safe world where she won't be assaulted and killed for the color of her skin."

"Like I said," Castiel said kindly, "you're a natural politician."

"So it must be in these times."

They both nodded in silent agreement. Silence fell for a moment until Castiel decided aloud: "Call the others for a meeting. Breakfast, the day after tomorrow before the diner opens."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, I don't have a rank anymore," Castiel said, squirming internally.

Hetanel's head inclined to the side that time. "I don't think we ever fully shed our ranks once we have them."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual content.

"Are you sure we should be going ahead with date night while there are angels in a cult trying to hurt us?"

Dean smirked into the freezer, reaching in for a tub of ice cream. "It's forty kinds of messed up that what you just said sounds completely normal in our lives." He pulled open the lid and brought a spoonful to Castiel's mouth. "What did we decide when James was a baby?"

"As long as he's happy and safe, we gotta work on us alone once a week," he replied, licking the frozen sweet cream from his lower lip.

"Right," Dean said. "My mom and dad had a date every Saturday night up until Sammy was born. Never missed a date from what Dad always said. They weren't perfect or anything--like, my dad wasn't always good to my mom like he should've been--but they always showed up for Saturday nights no matter what. Mom wrote in her journal that it always reminded her why she rebelled against her mom and dad to marry my dad. At the end of the day, she loved him even when he didn't come home or wasn't respecting her needs or whatever. If they didn't have that time to reconnect every week, I'm not sure they would've lasted."

A quiet smile spread Castiel's lips and warmth spread through his chest, a feeling he'd learned to associate with sentimentality and peace. "That's why you're so insistent about this every week then."

"I guess." A self-conscious shrug followed, coupled with a half-smile immediately plugged with another bite of ice cream.

"I didn't know your mother kept a journal."

Dean nodded and shrugged again, which seemed to be his automatic gesture when an emotional subject like his parents was mentioned. "Most hunter families teach their kids to keep journals for reference. I gave it to Sammy since he never got to know her and I kept our dad's journal instead."

He wanted to change the subject and divert the conversation from painful memories. Castiel sensed it, though no one else would certainly perceive the subtle shift in his mood. Quiet and observant, Castiel let his expression soften as he drifted nearer to Dean leaning back against the kitchen counter. Easily took the tub of ice cream and deposited it back into the freezer that he reached without stepping too far away. Part of him still felt the instinct of a guardian angel to shield Dean from all the anguish in the world--mind, body, and soul. Now, of course, that instinct brought him to the protective instincts for their children. Wings like his were big enough to shield many more children if Dean only desired them.

Dean held Castiel's gaze in trusting silence as the angel's fingertips cradled the stubbled line of his jaw. A brush of a kiss touched the opposite cheek at its highest point. Dean lowered his eyes the way he always did when faced with the rawest of intimacy, unguarded and without the distraction of physical exertion. Another feathery soft kiss fell closer to his mouth. The warmth of Dean's skin drew Castiel in like a moth to the flame.

"What would you like to do tonight, then?" Castiel murmured.

Thinking about it, Dean's mouth formed an exaggerated pout and his head bobbed from side to side as if weighing the options. He glanced over his shoulder through the kitchen window into the back yard and said, "Ever been skinny dipping?"

"What's that?"

He laughed, head thrown back, and he grabbed Castiel's hand. "C'mon. What's the use of having a pool and a babysitter if we don't go skinny dipping?"

Castiel still had no idea what Dean was talking about but he let himself be led by the hand through the kitchen door into the sticky night air. If the weather didn't break soon, he thought absently, then it promised to be a hellish summer. Even at night, the air hung thickly around them. A light breeze rustled the treetops high overhead but didn't quite swoop down enough to comfort the people on the ground. He turned his attention toward the clear black sky and counted the stars in his vaguely compulsive habit established long before Dean ever came into his existence.

Only Dean distracted him from the peaceful glittering sky. Fabric streaked over his head, flung onto the grass off to the side of the flagstone path. He'd peeled off his shirt and began unbuckling his belt enough to tug his jeans off his hips. Already barefoot, he kicked off those jeans in a few clumsy steps, tossing them in the opposite direction from the shirt on the grass.

"Dean?"

A cocky smile was tossed over his shoulder at Castiel. "C'mon, babe. Take it off."

The meaning of skinny dipping occurred to him finally as he watched Dean round the corner of the pool toward the deep end. Just before he jumped into the water, he shed his boxers, leaving nothing between his body and the night. Underwater lights cast glimmering lines over his skin and brightened the shapes of muscles hardened by the year he spent working in construction to take care of Castiel and newborn James. Only when his back gave out one too many times did he stop in order to take up cooking at the diner. A small smile played Castiel's lips as he watched Dean's long body glided along beneath the surface of the water. He reappeared in the shallow end, finding his footing and standing with the water lapping at the line of springy hair between his legs, giving the moment an entirely too intimate appearance for outdoors.

"Are you blushing?" Dean probed with laughter hidden in the question.

"The neighbors will see you," replied Castiel, averting his eyes and grinning bashfully. "They're going to see your...."

"My what?" he teased, wiggling his hips in the pool. "You worry too much, Cas. The lights are all off over at that house, so they're either asleep or not home. Those people over there, now, they're different. I've heard them bangin' away at each other before when I come home from the dinner shift. If they wanna complain about a little naked swim, I've got a thing or two to say about that. Besides, the houses are too far away for them to really see anything. It's not like we live in the burbs. We live in the sticks." Even if it was dark, Castiel still saw Dean wink in the reflection of the pool lights. "But thanks for thinking I've got enough manpower downstairs for the neighbors to see me all the way out there."

Castiel laughed quietly in his chest. He drew in closer, considering the possible enjoyment of swimming without being bound up in baggy shorts. He stuck his hands in his pockets somewhat self-consciously and leaned forward to have a look around at the darkened houses in the distance around their home.

"Are you gonna come in or am I gonna come get you?"

Brow arched, Castiel's eyes shot to his and read the challenge found there. He shifted on his feet but made no move beyond the pool gate, issuing his own silent challenge.

So Dean grumbled in his throat and launched himself out of the pool, dripping and spilling a trail of water off his body as he stalked closer. He held Castiel's eyes without a word as he peeled the t-shirt up over his head and threw it to the side, forgotten and unnecessary. It was easy yanking open his cargo shorts having no belt to get in the way and they stared each other down as the fabric pooled around Castiel's ankles. Tension seemed to crackle in the sticky night air between them as Dean's thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxers. They too fell once beyond the athletic thickness of Castiel's thighs, leaving him as exposed and free as his husband.

Castiel nipped at his lips in a teasing kiss and left him there. It was his turn and he stretched his arms over his head, propelling himself off the edge of the pool and breaking the surface with his naked body. Underwater, all time and physicality slowed. It was quiet there, peaceful, and without any hint of the dangers they faced in the world above among rebel angels and suspicious humans. He pumped his legs and spread his arms, feeling cool and mildly naughty as he swam without a stitch to hide his body. Modesty was a peculiar thing he'd acquired in huge quantities since being immersed in human culture.

The water broke behind him. Bubbles and waves alerted him to Dean's presence as he dove into the pool again. Castiel left peace behind and kicked for the surface. He turned back, studying Dean with a faint smile.

"Now that you have me here," Castiel teased, "what are you going to do with me?"

Dean said nothing but the lights from below made his eyes look like a fire ignited in the shades of green. He lifted out of the water over Castiel and, taking his face in his hands, kissed him with not only a possessive heart but one hoping to forget. Forget what, he didn't know. Perhaps Dean was as worried about the Order coming after their children as Castiel was, though he never displayed the slightest anxiety. Instead, he hoped to lose himself in the easy physical bond of their relationship, focusing on one thing he knew to be true. They could always reach for each other in the darkest moments and find a quiet understanding amid a storm of physical connection.

Concrete hit Castiel and he became aware that Dean had pushed him up against the pool wall. Only when he had Castiel pinned did he break the kiss and drift lower. Castiel gave in willingly, clutching him and letting him do what he pleased. It was Dean's way to need control, which made the few moments of control for Castiel feel all the more potent.

Teeth scraped Castiel's jaw in Dean's haste. He had an affinity for his collarbones, kissing along their lines. Castiel's hand curled through Dean's wet hair as he made quick work of sucking little bruises into the tender skin from his collarbones to his throat. Below the surface, languid limbs entwined in the water and Dean hooked a hand around Castiel's thigh, pulling it around his waist. Then the other. He no longer stood in the pool but held Dean's hips in his thighs, which pressed them tightly together. They were, together, solidly aroused and being immersed in cool water while pressed into hot flesh made them rock lazily into the other. Hot, cold, friction, and kisses proved a dizzying spell for Castiel and his fingers dug into Dean's arm until white crescents appeared in his muscles. It was astonishing how quickly Castiel became lost in the moment, in the sensations swirling around his body with the water.

Dean bit into the hard line of Castiel's shoulder, something he only did when he was particularly carried away. A long hand reached under Castiel, first pressing rhythmically into the root of his human body and making him moan and chew his bottom lip in spite of himself, and then sliding into his entrance. The intrusion made his hips buck. Pool water splashed over the wall behind his shoulders. Dean captured his lips with a tight kiss to quiet his sounds of pleasure as he readied his body for the completion they both craved.

"I dunno how this'll work in the pool without our regular stuff," murmured Dean in rushed syllables against his lips, "but yell at me if I hurt you too much."

Realizing he meant the purple bottle of lube in the upstairs nightstand drawer, Castiel focused enough to offer a shaky smile against Dean's lips in return. "I'm an angel," he said in a bit of a cocky tone. "I can take anything you do. Give it your best shot, love."

The challenge registered in Dean's eyes. His brow lifted, surprised, and then lowered into the determination to make good on that challenge. With a grunt of effort, he suddenly hiked up Castiel's body enough to slide the pulsing length of flesh beneath him. It was the angel's turn to be in a higher position as Dean's pelvis thrust home, producing sharp groans of relief between both of them. At first neither of them moved as they lingered in their joined positions, sharing kisses deep enough to taste each other's inner beings--grace on one side and a soul on the other.

Lust took gradual possession of Dean's body as he retracted and filled Castiel again and again. Once in a while, the addictive aching sensations sharpened and his hips ground hard into Castiel in a vaguely swirling motion as if he couldn't get close enough, as if he wanted to be consumed. The concrete edge of the pool scratched and scraped Castiel's shoulderblades, strangely heightening the pleasure radiating through his body. His own flexibility surprised him as he lifted his knees and spread his thighs wide, inviting Dean deeper and deeper until the static tension edged in around them and threatened to snap. Dean's iron grip on Castiel's hips hurt too but nothing could have made either of them stop then. His head bent, hovering over the pool by a mere inch or two and his breath panted rapidly on Castiel's chest.

Together, without the slightest hint of communication, they simultaneously began pounding faster into each other. Incoherent strings of filthy entreaties for more spilled from Dean's mouth--things Castiel dared not repeat in his own thoughts even if they made his dick swell still more to a nearly painful hardness. He was thankful for the constant splashing water should any neighbors on a nocturnal stroll hear them working out their stress in the backyard pool.

Dean began trembling violently as if he battled back his orgasm, inevitably losing and surrendering to the release. He growled into Castiel's chest and bit sharply his pectoral muscle as his body spiraled and pulsed bursts deep into Castiel's body. The sky rippled over Castiel's head as his own passion reached a delirious state and the stars seemed to spin and twirl beautifully for them. Fingers curled tightly around his engorged flesh. Being made into such a raw, exposed nerve had Castiel groaning and holding onto Dean's fist underwater as he met those rough strokes with equal need. He knew his husband liked to watch him come apart and some of his last coherent thoughts were to make it a good show for him. Castiel bit his lower lip through long, needy moans as he peered down through the distorted crystal blue waves to watch himself being jerked out of control. He rolled his thumb over his own slit in continuous circles as Dean's skilled hand worked him over.

"You like this," Dean murmured, wrung out but still holding Castiel up against the wall. "I knew you would. Feels good, hm babe? Come for me. Yeah. Rub yourself off, show me what makes you come hardest."

It was sinful listening to Dean talk that way, yet Castiel never put a stop to it. He wanted to hear it. Each syllable wound through him and reverberated through the fingers Dean had wrapped around his length. Not more than a couple of minutes could have separated one shuddering orgasm from the other but it stretched on in tortured bliss for Castiel. He felt it coming and writhed deliciously between the wall of Dean's thick body and the wall of the pool. Groans ascended higher until the power ripped through him and rendered him silent, unable to muster the slightest sound. Only his ragged breathing fueled the moment until each of his limbs wound up tight and then unfurled again.

It was, Castiel decided later that night in the quiet of bed, the best sex they'd had in months. He considered it as Dean slept beside him, naked except for the white bedsheet drawn to his waist. Castiel lounged against the pillows just as naked but without bothering to cover with the sheet. Humans often became consumed by lustful actions in the face of potential danger, making him wonder if Dean thought there was a chance they wouldn't survive.

By morning, Castiel had drifted enough into the meditative state he cultivated to mimic human sleep that he didn't initially feel Dean hovering over his body. The early morning sun brought his eyes open and he didn't move at first, his human vessel feeling rather stiff and sore. He lay sprawled on his stomach with one arm stuffed under his face. Above and behind him, he sensed Dean trying to be quiet as he bend over and examined the state of his back. Exploratory fingertips grazed skin that made Castiel jump. It stung, a sensation rather foreign to him.

"Babe, you're all bruised and cut up back here," said Dean in a soft, apologetic tone. "I dunno what I did to you."

"I can heal myself. It's fine," Castiel muttered.

"No." Pausing, it sounded like Dean was surprised by his own rejection of it and he took a moment to analyze it. "I ... I wanna take care of you. This is my fault."

"You didn't do anything I didn't desire."

"I know but.... Cas, just lemme take care of you for once."

For once. That told Castiel more in two words than anything else Dean could have said in that moment. There were tendrils of guilt in his soul as if he recounted the dozens of instances through the years before they had James when Castiel had been hurt or in danger and Dean couldn't do anything about it. The bruises and cuts from making love roughly against a concrete wall weren't Dean's desired outcome, just like the old days when everything seemed so out of his control. It added to Castiel's theory that his husband was more afraid of angels in rebellion threatening their family more than he wanted to show.

"Something cold would feel nice," said Castiel finally, deciding to let Dean be in control of injuries easily fixed with just a thought.

"Okay," Dean said, kissing the nape of his neck. "I'll be right back."

Though Castiel didn't see it, he felt Dean roll off the other side of the bed and pad out of the bedroom toward the bathroom. The sink ran for a few minutes there but he remained in bed, only admitting to himself in secret that maybe they had gotten too rough last night. His joints ached with how far they'd been stretched and his muscles burned even while lying perfectly still on his stomach. Still, he didn't regret it. Dean seemed more relaxed that morning in spite of Castiel's injuries, which means he had been carrying around a keg of gunpowder in him that needed to go off. Castiel was strong. He could take the strength of a hunter who didn't know how to verbalize fears for his family. In fact, Castiel felt honored all over again that Dean even wanted to be married and trusted him above all others to see his vulnerabilities. Castiel knew his husband in ways no one else dared. And still, the sex had been glorious even if he felt like he'd been hit by a truck the morning after.

Dean returned and climbed into bed again. He draped a cold wet washcloth as much over Castiel's shoulderblades as a square bit of fabric could cover. A fresh round of burning aggravated his flesh and it took everything he had not to heal himself. But Dean wanted to take care of his injuries and that was, in fact, a very Winchester way of expressing love. The truth made Castiel smile softly to himself.

"Should've told me I was hurting you," commented Dean as he splayed his hand over the cold washcloth.

"I didn't really feel it while it was happening." Castiel had felt it but it registered through the pleasure filters in his perception. He didn't know how to explain something he didn't understand, so he let it lie silently in their bedroom. "What about you?"

"Kinda tweaked my back again. Guess I'm getting too old to hold you up in kinky positions." There was a bit of laughter in his voice.

"You're not old, love. You've had back problems for years. Hunting since you were a little boy was bound to make your body deteriorate a little faster than humans who, say, sit in offices every day. It just makes you more readily injured if you press on your spine the wrong way. What you have is a slipped disc. Even swinging James around too harshly could cause you a great deal of discomfort." It was something Castiel had offered to correct many times but Dean said other people didn't have angel chiropractors and he brushed off the offers. Of course, that didn't stop Castiel from easing his pain without him knowing it sometimes.

"It was great though." Dean peeled off the washcloth and moved it to the left side of Castiel's upper back. "Last night, I mean. It was...."

"I know." Castiel smiled into his wrist, which his head rested on. "I believe I like skinny dipping a lot."

"We'll do it again. Just maybe not so rough next time," promised Dean. He lowered, kissing one of the bruises below Castiel's right shoulderblade. "I dunno what got into me. I just had to have you but it wasn't enough. Like I wanted to crawl into you and be part of you."

"You are part of me."

Silence fell as Dean removed the washcloth. A pop suggested he had some kind of bottle but Castiel didn't turn around to look, deciding it was his husband's duty to look after him the way he wanted. Cold stickiness touched one of the burning spots, making him wince, but Dean's fingers were so gentle that he'd never let anyone else see that much tenderness in a hunter. Castiel's sharp senses picked out antibacterial ingredients in the soothing cream being applied to his scratches.

*****

Hetanel was late. Really late. The nest gathered that morning before the diner opened to talk about whether Molly should be told the truth or not. A few of the angels were opposed but most thought not telling her would make her an even bigger liability, just like Hetanel had said. But he was still so late and he had James for a sleepover the previous night.

"If we tell her," said Timaniel, "and she doesn't react well, won't that place Dean and Cas' fetus in danger? Human fetuses are dependent on the human mother for survival. This might be too much of a shock for her."

"We are equipped with the power to help mother and child survive should anything go wrong," argued Demiel.

Mael nodded in agreement. "In fact, not telling her now might cause more harm if the Order gets to her. Finding out angels exist by violent means is much worse than being told by those she already knows and trusts."

"And I can teach her to protect herself," Dean said.

"Well," shrugged Bobby with his usual calm demeanor, "if the danger's too serious, she can come hang out in my big empty house where I can keep an eye out for dicks with wings." He glanced around the table as if he'd just called them all spawn of the devil. "No offense."

"I think telling her is the right thing to do," pointed out Sam, idly playing with a fork on the table while he reasoned out his opinion. "I'm just not sure we should jump to the worst scenario right now. The Order's after the nest as it exists, not a human child not even born yet. I'd just hesitate to uproot her life and basically make her Bobby's prisoner--"

"--Hey, boy!--"

"--Sorry. But if there's no specific threat against her, let's teach her a few things but let her go about her life like normal."

An acquiescence came through Dean's shoulders as he shrugged. "Sammy has a point. I don't wanna stress her out more than I have to."

"How far along is she again?" asked Demiel.

"Fifteen weeks," Castiel replied, speaking for the first time in several minutes.

Rubbing her hands together, Mael eyed him excitedly. "Almost halfway there."

Before he could respond, a commotion of a rather large Northern Cheyenne man carrying two loud toddlers, bags, and a book stopped the meeting. Dean leaped from his chair to meet Hetanel at the door and relieved him of wriggling James before both the fledglings escaped his grasp.

"I know who he is," Hetanel said without preamble. "My friend back in Heaven figured it out and brought me his records."

"Who? Jeremy?" asked Sam as a general sense of alarm swept through the room.

"Yeah. Here, go play with your cousins, baby," he said sweetly to Katrina, stooping to stand her on the floor. Then he dropped a dark blue leather book on the table at the center of the gathering. Each of them recoiled, faced with records they'd been forbidden to see. A book like that existed for each angel in creation. "We're dealing with an angel called Claudiel. His chain of command went to Raphael in the old days and he was charged with keeping watch over all the world's priests, nuns, and other clergy. Angels used to have a voice through the churches but when God stopped us from making so many appearances, some of the angels resented it."

"Appearances?" Bobby asked.

Hetanel nodded. "The most famous stories are of the Virgin Mary appearing before humans to deliver wisdom and work miracles. Other angles were allowed to do the same too for a time. Claudiel apparently had charisma, as you might call it, and his appearances quickly became famous before Jesus was born. After the crucifixion, some humans mistook Claudiel's manifestations for that of Jesus, so he was reassigned to look after religious leaders."

"That explains how the cult-y Order of the Fiery Cross happened," commented Sam thoughtfully. "He would've been exposed to religious zealots through all that stuff."

"Right," Hetanel replied, "which is why I think he's behind the whole thing. He got disillusioned with the relationship between Heaven and Earth, eventually deciding that extreme measures were necessary. Humans stopped having faith the more science took hold and Claudiel thought they didn't deserve to be graced with the presence of angels. Of course the superior leadership thought he was crazy, basically, and he stopped responding to orders around the French Revolution. Turns out he was using a rather famous vessel at the time. A man called Maximilien Robespierre. He used that vessel to kill quite a lot of humans under the guise of revolutionary reform. What he was really doing was punishing what he thought of as a sinful and hedonistic society. Blah, blah, blah, he jumped vessels for a few hundred years, and then during the apocalypse, he used the Boston earthquake to fall from grace without being detected."

"How can he go undetected by Heaven?" Demiel questioned skeptically.

"I don't know."

"Wait a minute," Dean interjected. "What about Jeremy Batt's soul? In Heaven?"

"Not as far as I know, no," said Hetanel.

"Shit." It seemed Sam picked up on where Dean was going with it. He leaned forward at the table and rubbed the strain from his eyes.

"Yeah, shit," echoed Dean.

"I don't understand," Castiel said.

Turning to Castiel, a quiet voice through Dean's words. "Didn't you say once that a human soul is like a nuclear reactor? If you're a Chrysler building looking for a place to shuck off your species, you'd hide behind something as powerful as you could find."

Sam agreed. "Basically, Cas, we're thinking Claudiel's holding Jeremy Batt's soul hostage. Even if he no longer has grace or power, he had to use the soul to hide behind while he got rid of his grace so Heaven wouldn't notice."

"Claudiel's using Jeremy's human soul as a body shield so he can hide out and do his zealot stuff with the Order," said Hetanel.


	17. Chapter 17

"Does Dean know I'm here?"

Castiel nodded without looking at Hetanel, who shifted and stuck his hands in his jeans pockets. Across the stone bridge in the distance, four sets of wide, swooping wings brought Gabriel in for a landing along with three guards. He called them his Obama Squad before when things weren't so complicated and Castiel could joke with him again. They'd taken several steps back in their reconciliation. He didn't enjoy it. Judging by the stonelike set to Gabriel's jaw in the distance, he didn't like it either.

With a glance, Hetanel smirked. "Who's idea was it to meet at the park bridge?"

"Mine."

"Poetic."

The envoy from Heaven mounted the arched bridge, approaching the rise, and Castiel moved to meet them with Hetanel trailing behind on his right. Old habits resurfaced in him more and more as he assumed the role of lieutenant given to him.

"Thanks for coming," said Gabriel in a rare moment of humility.

Castiel nodded. He still hadn't found his words. Part of him feared unleashing a torrent of personal anger and wounded feelings if he opened his mouth. They weren't there to talk about the sister he never knew or the brainwashing and control Heaven maintained over angels to prevent those deep and abiding bonds. They weren't there to talk about how the one time Gabriel followed orders, it left Castiel without knowledge of a sibling that could have been his friend. He wanted what Dean had with Sam. Heaven robbed him of that opportunity and he wondered if taking it out on Gabriel would even make him feel better.

Even so, the needs of his nest superseded his own feelings. He drew himself up from the core and pressed ahead. "Have you discovered anything about the rebels?"

"Oh, Bean, did you really think I'd come empty-handed?" A sly grin slipped across Gabriel's mouth. He lifted a hand and one of his flunkies passed three dark blue leather bound books into it without a spoken command. "An interesting messenger came to the throne room from the archival library last night looking all sweaty and terrified, which is a neat trick for a celestial wavelength." A quick glance flickered up to Hetanel's face. "I don't suppose you know anything about a missing angel book, hmm big guy?"

"Your Celestial Majesty--"

"--Yuck. Don't call me by such a dusty old title. I'm a cooler king. C'mon, I mean, President Obama plays basketball in sweats and shades--"

"--Gabriel, as much as I want to hear about your great admiration for the American president, we're pressed for time here." Castiel's tone came out testy and sarcastic but his mood barely touched anything cordial. Meeting the King of Heaven was only one of a dozen awful things on his agenda for that day. "Yes, Hetanel arranged to have the angel book on Claudiel borrowed from the archives. He was acting under my orders."

"It ain't a lending library, Bean."

Castiel's eyes narrowed and his brow flattened into a hard line. "Are you really concerned about following rules now after everything?"

"Nope." Shrugging, Gabriel handed over the three gilt edged books into Hetanel's hands. "This is everything we have about three of the suspects. If you have one, we're only missing two more of the main shit disturbers. My advisors said there could be as many as twenty or thirty fallen angels being actively recruited by the big six. I don't wanna hurt them. I'm more of a peace and love John Lennon bed-in kind of guy. We're already an endangered species, I guess. A few more angel dead and they'll be doing sad save the wings commercials to Sarah McLachlan music. So if we can think of a way to fix this without getting all stabby, I'd love it."

"We're of the same mind in that regard," Castiel replied.

Gabriel frowned a fraction. "Why are you talking so formal?"

"I'm not." But in defiance, Castiel clasped his hands behind his back and separated his feet in an at east soldier pose.

A thousand retorts, questions, and entreaties battled it out on Gabriel's face but he appeared to hold his tongue. If that was the case, he knew all too well just how frustrated and upset Castiel was by the secret coming out that he had a sister-angel. He wished without a doubt for the ability to turn off his emotions when they weren't serving him well. It was a conversation to have with Dean later.

Gabriel eyed him as he pulled the middle book from the book in the stack tucked under Hetanel's left arm. "You take care of this one."

Gilt scrollwork on the spine of the blue leatherbound book spelled out one word: Limaneal. It wasn't a surprise that Gabriel included her angel book in the stack of the ones his advisors identified as part of those in rebellion. Seeing her name, holding her existence in his hands, made his stomach dip. Anxiety? Certainly. That faceless sister wanted him dead if he didn't bend to the will of the Order of the Fiery Sword. Regret? Yes, a little bit of that too. They never had a chance. Heaven swept her away to become a reprogrammer even before Castiel was created. It hit him all at once that Limaneal may never see reason. He may have to kill his own sister-angel.

"You're gonna have to forgive me someday, Bean," said Gabriel in a stragely pleading tone.

"Protecting my nest is what matters right now. As I was saying before, Hetanel acted on my behalf with his contacts back home to search out the most likely suspect." Castiel grew stronger as he spoke of practical matters. "The angel we're looking for is called Claudiel. His commander was Raphael back in the old days."

Gabriel nodded. "What's his M.O.?"

Nodding to Hetanel allowed him to speak freely on what he knew. "Well, Claudiel apparently had dominion over human religious figures likes priests and nuns in early Christianity. You remember God stopping so many appearances of angels on Earth right before he abandoned the throne. A lot of angels hated it and started resenting the favoritism God showed humans over time. I know I'm not telling you anything new." He shifted the books from one arm to the other. "Religion faded in importance. Science rose. Claudiel no longer thought they deserved the help of angels if they weren't going to be faithfully devoted, so he started killing humans on a massive scale."

"Hetanel's friends traced him through time," said Castiel, picking it up again. "He jumped from vessel to vessel beginning in the French Revolution to carry out his plans in wiping out hedonistic society. The terror in France was essentially his doing."

They worked in unison, Castiel and his lieutenant. Carrying on, Hetanel said, "He took advantage of the chaos in the apocalypse to make his leap from Heaven but it's not as simple as a fall from grace. No one knows where Jeremy Batt's soul is. That means only one thing - Claudiel is hiding behind it, using him like a shield so he can more or less go undetected."

A great deal of scrambling and murmuring in Enochian behind Gabriel suggested his advisors already alerted the necessary authorities in Heaven. For his part, Gabriel leaned back on the wall of the stone bridge and digested the news in silence for a time.

"So basically I'm mopping up more of dear old Dad's messes," he said.

Hetanel shifted, still uneasy with such a casual monarch. "Looks that way."

"Use a tracking spell on Jeremy's soul. If Claudiel thinks he's squirrelled away pretty good, it won't freak him out if he feels the human soul being tracked. I'm thinking he really didn't fall either. This little brat's just got his wings tucked really well." Gabriel stared into the horizon at nothing in particular and he spoke as if working out the problem on his own. "No, no, I don't think he ripped out his grace. We can't make him a martyr to his cause though. Look what happened with Lucifer."

"I'm sorry, Your Celes--Gabriel?" A finger to Hetanel's earlobe and tilting forward made him hear better, it seemed. "Are we under orders not to kill the rebel?"

Gabriel stood straighter as if he'd been discovered talking to himself. "Yeah. Don't kill him. It'll just make them toss up statues in his honor and murder more humans. We're not in that business. This isn't Hell."

"Yes, sir," replied Hetanel in full agreement.

The taste for bloodshed had never been part of Castiel's inner makeup and it relieved him to see Gabriel matured as a reigning king. He softened toward his father figure just a fraction, though he did it kicking and screaming. An unexpected revelation surfaced in that moment. He wanted to stay angry at Gabriel because that was the safe way to be, living on his own terms and not trusting the one who raised him.

Another nagging thought fought for attention. It wasn't Gabriel's fault that Limaneal got taken away or that he could never tell Castiel about her. It was entirely Heaven's fault. Such corruption was exactly why Castiel fought so hard to raise his nest on Earth far from the traditionalists in Heaven. But he batted away those thoughts releasing Gabriel from responsibility as soon as they surfaced. Anger at one being instead of an entire institution was easier to manage for the moment.

"Keep the tracking spell on Jeremy's soul and watch where he's going, who he's hanging out with, and all that," said Gabriel, cutting into Castiel's thoughts. "Don't let him know you're tracking him. We need more information before I come up with a game plan. Let him lead you to the other rebels. Call for me if there are any plans right away to hurt more humans and I'll figure something out to try and protect them." Stress played out deeper in the lines of Gabriel's face. Taking the throne happened in an impulsive moment for him and the novelty of ruling seemed to be wearing on his good humor.

"I'll call for you," offered Castiel.

Their eyes met in silent communication. It wasn't perfect but it was a start to rebuild the ground they lost.

*****

In Molly's sixteenth week of pregnancy - sixteen weeks and one day to be exact - the baby moved. Dean had gotten tired of watching him "brood and pace" around the house while they waited for Hetanel to come back from Israel with necessary tracking spell ingredients. As per the rule concerning no use of grace in their nest, it meant he flew by plane and was three days into a week-long stay.

"I've got the kids. Get out of the house for a while. Clear your head," Dean had said as he all but shoved Castiel out of the front door.

"Katrina will fly before you can stop her," protested Castiel, "and James is in a mimicry phase."

Laughter rolled from Dean's chest. He caught Castiel by the chin and popped a kiss on his lips. "I'm taking the kids to the pool. You're going out for a drive or whatever you need to do. You're driving me nuts. I'm kicking you out because I love you. Go see Molly or something."

And so, Castiel climbed into his red Cutlass convertible. He drove into Sioux Falls, sweeping through wheat fields with the windows open and the radio blasting music he didn't know but felt good. If Dean thought he needed to have a break, he didn't want to admit he had no idea what that meant. James was in a mimicking phase, so Castiel took a page from his son's book by copying Sam and Dean's free time. They used to find warm places and ride with the windows down and the radio up back when they lived on the road and needed a break. Castiel admitted it felt nice.

Upon reaching Sioux Falls, he turned down the music before he attracted unwanted attention. The diner was bustling. He pulled into the square and noticed the people sitting on rocking chairs out front where Demiel sent spillover crowding while they waited for tables. There was Sam's unmistakable height passing by the enormous storefront window. He carried plates and wore a long white apron, suggesting Demiel had him cooking in addition to waiting tables. Castiel almost reconsidered his plans to visit Molly but a crowded diner wasn't going to help him relax. If Demiel truly needed extra hands, she usually had no problem picking up the phone and demanding backup.

Across the square from the diner stood a four story building much like every other structure built at the turn of the twentieth century. Demiel and Sam's building had been built in 1880, while the building the Winchesters moved Molly into was built in 1901. History would relax him. He thought absently about going to do research on the buildings making up that square, just who lived in them over the last hundred years, and what kind of lives they led. It was something he had in common with Sam. Then as he thought of how much he valued their friendship, he decided that was the sort of thing they could do together.

Castiel parked off to the side of the square and made his way upstairs to the second floor. They'd rented an apartment for Molly once it became clear the baby was thriving and it gave her a chance to be closer to Dean and Castiel while they worked at the diner. He never thought keeping her close to the nest would be necessary to protect her from other angels.

"Oh, Cas! Hi!" A blooming womanly shape and a cheery smile greeted him when Molly answered her door. "Are you doing all right? Come on in. The place is a little bit of a mess. I'm trying to find clothes that'll fit."

"Dean said I needed a break," he said, not knowing how else to word it.

Molly, who rushed around her fluffy feminine living room furniture making neat stacks of clothes, stopped and let a slow smile brighten her features. "You'll have another little one to wear you out soon. Is James okay?"

"Growing all the time." Curious, he plucked a shirt from the nearest pile and let it unfurl before him. "You know, I believe they manufacture attire for expectant mothers if your normal supply isn't fitting anymore." As he spoke, his eyes lifted from the narrow shirt to the woman standing there with bare feet on plush beige carpet and a tummy that pooched out far more in the past two weeks.

"Oh, I know about maternity clothes," she replied. "I'm just trying to save a little money."

"That's not necessary. Dean and I agreed to care for your needs while you're pregnant. All you have to do is ask." Carefully, he folded her shirt and laid it on top of the stack once more in a bit of a panic about what he had to tell her. Fussing over her maternity clothes was a diversionary tactic on himself and he knew it.

Molly tossed her head with pretty laughter. "Are you going to take me maternity clothes shopping, Cas?"

He shrugged, feeling a smile tug on one corner of his mouth. "Sure. I'm unoccupied this afternoon. What about you?"

"You're serious!" Renewed giggles made her clap and spin.

Castiel sensed one of those strange gender-related issues humans spent entirely too much time worrying about but he understood old habits took time to erode in culture. His smile never broke as he watched Molly fuss over tying her hair into a pretty bun at the crown of her head. She painted on coral lipstick and slipped on ivory crochet shoes, making her look like the picture of early summer in her floaty dress. In fact, the dress and crochet shoes looked a lot cooler to wear outside than the clothes men wore but Castiel pushed that thought aside.

"Oh!" Gasping, Molly jumped and clamped a hand over the sixteen-week swell of her belly.

"What?" He stood, body rigid with a surge of fear. "Are you sick?"

"No, no." There she went with that merry laughter again. "The baby moved. Your baby, Cas. It fluttered right in here. I hadn't felt it until now. Maybe you can feel it too." She grabbed his hand and pressed his palm to the left side of her tummy without ceremony. "Now just wait a minute. We'll see."

They waited, Castiel's eyes fixed on the abdomen keeping his second child warm, fed, and safe. Her calm sense kept him from feeling peculiar about standing there with his hand wrapped around her abdomen. She'd given two other families their babies before, he remembered, so what was new and fascinating to him was old news to her. There was happiness in her eyes though. Molly truly was one of the few selfless humans Castiel had encountered in his travels. Few people could help families in need have their children while being honestly pleased for them.

"Try talking."

"Hm?"

"Talk to the baby," Molly repeated. "I think maybe your voice did it."

"Oh ... um. Hello, Baby Grape. That's ... that's what your father calls you because we're still arguing about names. Um ... I'm your other father. Castiel. You'll call me Daddy or Dad and you'll call your other father DD for Daddy Dean. We made that up when your brother was a new baby. Your brother is named James and he's two-years-old. He likes apples and the swimming pool in our backya--"

Bubbles? Castiel's eyes narrowed, uncertain of what went bloop, bloop, bloop against his fingertips. It was so faint. Maybe he imagined it.

"There." Molly's smile turned into triumph. "It's not very exciting right now but it'll get a lot stronger. Sometimes new father's can't feel it at all until the baby's just about kicking them in the face. I see you felt it. Oh, look at you. Sweetheart, there are tears in your eyes!"

Tears didn't register in Castiel's awareness until Molly broke away to grab tissues from one of the silver mirrored end tables flanking her couch. He touched fingertips under one eye and looked at the moisture collected there with a curious, somewhat detached sensation. Warmth swelled in his chest and he knew it well from being utterly besotted by his oldest child. He couldn't remember crying with joy over something so simple as the flutter of one of James' feet or hands though.

"Why am I doing this?" His rhetorical question flowed into the tissue as he awkwardly managed to dry his eyes and nose.

Molly blinked at him. "You don't know?"

He shook his head and the waterworks started all over again when his vision cleared and he saw the outline of her pregnant shape. Maybe he was overloading on human emotion. That had to be it. He'd broken some part of his vessel and it would have to be repaired by one of the other angels in his nest.

Stepping closer, Molly clasped his hands along with the wadded tissues. She peered up into his eyes with the most ardent empathy. "For the one expecting, loving a child begins the moment she realizes she's pregnant. For the other parent, love begins when they meet the child," she explained in a gentle tone. "Sometimes the other parent, especially those like you and Dean, will fall in love when you feel evidence of the new life. I've seen it before. You've just fallen in love with your child. That's all. I'm happy I could be part of that moment for you."

"I see," Castiel whispered. Stilled and stunned, he took a moment to absorb the truth in what she said.

"Did you not expect it?"

"I...." Silence engulfed his throat, allowing his brain time to cycle through making sense of it. The moment appeared, he realized. It was time to tell her. "No, I didn't realize that could happen. The truth is I often struggle to wade through the labyrinth of human emotion on a day to day basis. I'm getting better at it. I learned anger and love fairly quick."

"Oh, do you have some sort of illness?" The gentle innocence in her made her rather concerned as she studied his face.

"No, not an illness. You better ... you better sit down with me, I think."

"...Okay."

He knew he was already treading on thin ice but carrying her through the next few minutes involved discomfort that couldn't be avoided. They sat together on her pale green sofa decorated with square pillows in rich, dark green and ivory stripes. Molly kept quiet, patient as ever, and Castiel readied himself to sedate her with a touch of his finger to her forehead should she take it badly. Protecting his child was a concern, he admitted with some reluctance, but he wanted Molly to be all right too.

She tilted her head. "What is it? You're awfully pale."

"What I have to tell you is not something I take lightly," he began. "In fact, I was never supposed to tell you at all but circumstances have changed and, well, here we are."

"Okay. Just tell me. Whatever it is, just tell me outright."

Castiel took a deep breath. He let the moment settle in case she lost her sanity. Some of them did, of course. "I promise I would never lie to you. Even if you weren't my surrogate, you're still my friend."

She nodded.

"Molly, the truth is I'm not human. I'm an angel of the Lord." Castiel sat too still like a piece of marble, waiting for her to react, but she only stared. It was better to say it all. He learned that from past experiences. "My siblings are all angels too and our children are fledglings, which means they're angels lacking maturity. All of us escaped corruption in Heaven and sought refuge here on Earth where we could raise our young by our own principles without fear. The reason why we settled in South Dakota is because my husband's remaining family live here. Dean, Sam, and Bobby are all human. We live as a blended family and we're all very happy. Dean and I want a family like anyone else, which is why we're having another baby together. I couldn't give sperm without creating a nephilim, so he did. A nephilim is half-human, half-angel. And--"

Pale and clammy in a split-second, Molly bolted from the sofa, yet she remained in the room. She paced. One hand bracing the small of her back made her sixteen-week tummy pop out even more. Her other hand shoved into her hair and sent her bun askew.

"This is crazy," she whispered.

Typical reaction.

"I can prove what I am."

That caught Molly's attention and she spun to look at him again. "No, you can't," she laughed fearfully, "because you're not an angel. You're playing a joke on me. It's not funny, Cas. Are you drunk? On drugs? Religious fanatics have been pulling stuff like this for centuries on people like me who are desperate to maintain faith in God. Why would you prey on my faith when I've had such a hard time leaving my church to give this child to you and your husband?"

Castiel knew better than to continue the argument. Humans had an irritating way of talking circles around everything without taking the time to live by their convictions. Responding to her would only put her in danger of getting so overwrought that she harmed the child growing in her belly. He couldn't even find it in himself to be hurt by her accusations.

Moving slowly but with purpose, Castiel took a porcelain figure from her bookshelf and examined it. The woman was dressed in Regency attire with hand painted details, although the rosy pigment on her lip was chipped.

"This was a gift from your grandmother before she died," he declared.

She froze, of course, since she had never told him about it.

Holding her eye contact, Castiel lifted the porcelain momento overhead and whipped his arm down hard. Molly screamed, horrified as the sacred object shattered in tiny pieces all over the room. He waited for the finality of the destruction to pour in through the shock of what he'd done. Sobbing choked her.

"Watch carefully, Molly," he said in his old monotone.

Castiel opened his palm over the room, arm extended. It had been quite some time since he'd touched the power of his grace but it felt good using it again. He called each particle to his hand, speaking to the base matter making up Molly's sacred little treasure. One by one, the jagged porcelain shards flew toward the palm of his hand the way a powerful magnet might have jerked nails out of the subfloor beneath the carpet. Watching her porcelain figure put itself back together without even a flutter of Castiel's fingers stunned her sobbing into perfect silence. Tears remained pooled in her eyes but she couldn't look away.

Once the six-inch Regency lady righted herself in Castiel's hand again, wonderfully assembled as if he'd never smashed it, he presented it to her. Molly recoiled at first. Most people were frightened of objects known to be touched by the power of angels until it occurred to them that they might benefit from such relics.

Her bravery and curiosity won out against her fear. Thin feminine fingers touched the cool white porcelain and he allowed her to explore it by her leisure for a moment.

"Do you believe me now or do you need further proof?" he asked, though there was no malice in the question.

Molly swallowed hard and lifted her wide, unblinking, tearful eyes. "I believe you," she whispered. "God in Heaven. My faith means something after all. I'm not invisible."

"Of course not," Castiel murmured in his utmost sincerity. "But I'm afraid I had to tell you the truth for your own good. Your life may be in danger, and by extension, the life of my child. We have things to discuss. Can you bear it now?"

"Yes," she said, wiping her eyes. "I can bear anything now."


	18. Chapter 18

Two figures swooped into the darkened alley down the block from the popular Sioux Falls diner known as Mary's Kitchen. If anyone had been out at that black two a.m. hour, they would have wondered at the shadows moving in sweeping synchronicity. They crept toward the diner in silence, although observers might have sensed something strange and unnatural about the pair in the exact way they didn't communicate for the human ear.

One paused in front of the closed diner and craned her head up to the apartment she knew existed on the upper floors of the building owned by the Winchesters. Cloaking themselves from other angels in the area required Enochian tattoos on their vessels just like the one Castiel tattooed on his. Sometimes he showed an aptitude for cleverness. Sometimes.

Across the town square stood another building of interests to the two figures. A light burned through the window and silhouetted a woman stretched out on her sofa in a billowing soft nightgown. There was a book propped on her pregnant belly. No human could have seen it that far but the angel on the street narrowed her eyes. The Bible. She would have allowed an ironic bubble of laughter to seep into the night if they weren't under orders to maintain perfect silence. All communication must be done on the higher frequency than Heaven used. It was difficult to reach but they'd been trained well. The Order of the Fiery Sword had gone undetected for years on that higher frequency.

"We are not to harm the human until she gets in our way," said the companion angel in an army captain's vessel.

Limaneal turned her back on the building. She still disliked the twinge of an itch in her vessel's brain when one of her fellows spoke through the Order's frequency. She didn't respond or even acknowledge the angel at her side. Zaphiel really wasn't necessary for their mission but Claudiel had insisted no one go out alone. For such a brilliant leader, he had a tendency to be overly cautious where the Winchesters were concerned. They were just a couple of humans made of the same fragile tissue and bone as any other human.

A hand emerged from within Limaneal's black cloak, which was covered in a thin layer of magic designed by Claudiel himself to shield them from Heaven's detection. She held her hand out to the locking mechanism on Mary's Kitchen's doors. With a simple turn of her grace, the lock gave way and the building's security system was disrupted.

They moved through the diner floor without turning on a single light. Angel eyes were capable of seeing through pitch blackness if necessary. She felt her vessel's pupils widen as far as they could go but it wasn't needed.

A still, quiet human kitchen greeted them with shining stainless steel surfaces, white porcelain, antiquated repurposed counters and tables. It was the picture of order. It reeked of Demiel and her human lover. That ape of a man slept upstairs in the apartment he shared with Demiel and her fledglings as if he remotely understood the requirements in raising a new generation of Heaven's soldiers. The entire thing was disgusting.

"We could slip upstairs and take the fledglings before anyone finds out," offered Zaphiel like a hungry dog catching a scent.

"You know our orders," replied Limaneal as she found the refrigeration device. Having to speak on the Order's frequency irritated her.

As Limaneal opened the refrigeration unit, both of them recoiled in revulsion at the wall of odors. Just how humans found the need to consume food a pleasurable experience was beyond the Order's comprehension.

"Which food will they consume?"

"Demiel is known to be a creature of routine and labels everything with the meticulous habits of our kind," said Limaneal as she scanned plastic containers for the correct target.

Zaphiel sneered. "She's not our kind anymore. None of them are. They've betrayed our kind."

"And that is precisely why we're here," Limaneal said in an overly obvious tone like Zaphiel was an idiot. "There. Sunday supper. Our intelligence was correct. Claudiel said Castiel's nest never misses a Sunday supper in the diner. Quaint. Revolting display of human sympathy." Sighing, she held out her hand. "The bottle."

Zaphiel wriggled around inside of the black cloak draped around his vessel until he produced a blue glass bottle stopped with a cork. He pressed it into Limaneal's hand reverently.

It wouldn't make them ill nor any other fully matured angel but a fledgling lacking the immunity and safeguards provided by a matured grace.... She allowed a faint smile to tease her lips as she poured the tasteless, odorless liquid into the Sunday supper so lovingly made by Demiel's hands. A generous amount ensured every little fledgling who consumed horrid human food at that meal would fall ill and suffer such disease for weeks and weeks without their misguided parents knowing the cause. If they didn't know the cause, they couldn't make the cure.

And if they were too frightened by diseased fledglings, then it'd create an opening for the Order to exploit. Earth was not the right place to raise Heaven's future soldiers. Once they saw the disease, they'd know it.

*****

Sam Winchester had no idea how human children felt about poopy diapers but he knew fledgling angels hit decibels that threatened to split his eardrums when they cried. He also didn't know how long it was supposed to take for Evelyn and Noah to develop immunity to human illnesses but it wasn't happening fast enough for him. Potty training wasn't happening fast enough either.

"More wipes!"

"Incoming!"

A relay between Sam and Demiel in the living room had him tossing a plastic box of baby wipes over the coffee table. Two toddlers with a tummy bug drove home exactly how unready they were to have a third child. Maybe in another year, he thought as he cleaned watery poo off Noah's chubby toddler leg.

Several feet away, Evelyn began to cry but not loudly. She sounded weak and tired as she whimpered, "Want Daddy," while Demiel wiped up her mess. It broke a place in his heart that he hadn't known was there - an empty place meant to be filled up with children calling him Daddy and grandchildren calling him Grandpa. They just had to get through the tummy bug first. It came out of nowhere after dinner and hit Noah first, being the smaller, quieter, and overall the less substantial of the two. Then Evelyn started waddling around the living room with a leaky diaper dropping low around her hips.

Noah whined as Sam fastened the clean diaper on him, foregoing training pants for the night. One hand braced on the floor, he leaned over the sick little fledgling and gently rubbed his belly.

"I know, buddy. Sucks being sick, doesn't it? You won't have to worry about human disease too much longer." But as he spoke in a soothing voice, Sam wondered if Noah would take longer to develop his grace. He seemed slow to mature. It reminded Sam of himself when he was a child before he hit puberty and sprouted up to six-foot-four. "Do you want pajamas or no?"

Noah nodded. His eyes looked glassy with fever.

"Maybe we should all camp out in one bed tonight," Sam said to his fiancée, who stared down at Evelyn with a worried crease in her brow.

"Yes," she agreed. "They'll feel better if they feel like they're allowed to follow nesting instincts."

"I don't understand what happened. They were just fine at supper tonight." The frustration in Sam's voice belied the worry sinking in his belly as he dressed Noah in fleece footie pajamas. "Do fledglings get sick like this?"

Demiel didn't answer right away and that hesitation worried him.

"Demmie?"

"We should ask the others. My cooking is precise. Mary Winchester's recipes are precise too."

"Okay."

Sam knew not to say any more for the moment. He knew better than to press an angel with elite combat training and fighting instincts. Even if his fiancé enjoyed living the life of a human woman, those fighting instincts never went away, especially if her instincts turned territorial over her young. She'd warned him about it before. No matter how much she loved him, the instincts of an angel parent sensing danger could make that parent unpredictable. It wasn't her fault and it wasn't his either. But it would become his fault if he kept pressing the sick fledgling button.

The little ones definitely didn't feel well. Noah reached for Sam and snuggled into his shoulder, which was odd behavior for a small boy who still greeted him with suspicion. Holding the little fledgling gave Sam an opportunity to estimate his body temperature. There was definitely a fever. He didn't realize angels could even come down with fevers until he recalled the disease that nearly killed Hael. She'd had a fever too.

*****

Castiel sat up from the headboard of the bed he shared with Dean, who slept slack-jawed by his side. By the blue glow of their bedroom television set on the lowest audible volume, he caught a glimpse of white moving down the hallway.

At the same time, his phone on the bedside table vibrated, making the clock glow in the dark room. 2:38 a.m. Sam Winchester. He grabbed his phone and followed the tiny escapee down the hallway without waking Dean. Something was going on and clearly James sensed it enough to wake him from slumbering in his beloved dinosaur bed.

"Hello, Sam," he said, answering the phone. Managing James at the same time, he said to the child, "James, what's wrong?"

"Tummy hurt, Daddy."

"Cas, both my kids are sick."

Both responses arrived in Castiel's brain on top of each other just as he noticed his fledgling waddling like a penguin toward the bathroom. James waddled like there was something in his overnight potty training underwear. Then the smell hit his highly sensitive angel nose.

"Sam, is it a stomach ailment?" he asked with a frightened dip in his belly.

"Yeah," replied Sam, voice tense. "They've got diarrhea, fevers, and now a bumpy purple rash popped up all over Noah's chest and stomach. Demmie thinks it'll happen to Evelyn too. You know Noah. He's smaller and less mature than the others. Whatever's happening here is exploiting that."

"Purple rash?" Castiel was already crouching in front of James who sat whimpering on the toilet. "I don't see anything on James' chest but he's sick."

"The rash, Cas. It's like neon purple. It glows in the dark."

The ominous tone in Sam's voice did little to hide his quickened pulse and periodic bursts of adrenalin. He was scared. Scaring a Winchester happened so rarely that it bled into Castiel and paralyzed him with his own fear for a moment. He stood up and leaned against the bathroom wall to give James a little space. The poor child had attempted to get to the toilet in time but his inner legs were streaked with evidence of the same sickness plaguing Sam's household.

"Let's get everybody to Bobby's place as soon as possible. If our three are sick, the other three must be sick too," Castiel said.

Being given a task seemed to calm Sam. "Got it."

Something was wrong. There was nothing natural about a neon purple rash on an angel fledgling let alone more than one afflicted with the same symptoms.


	19. Chapter 19

By the light of a golden dawn, Castiel strode through the living room into the kitchen at Bobby's house. He dragged a distressed hand through his hair, peering quickly into each occupied playpen as he went. The nest had divided their fledglings into groups depending on the severity of their symptoms. The worst cases, William and Noah, were quarantined downstairs in the basement. James was one of the better cases in the living room but the disease had Bobby's house in a state of chaos.

"How are we doing in here?" Castiel asked, his tone all business.

Hetanel had Evelyn lying on the kitchen table while Bobby stood by ready to do what he ordered. The Northern Cheyenne angel opened his hand over her midsection and covered her angry neon purple rash with cool white-blue light. His grace barely made a dent. That didn't bode well for any of them. Evelyn was one of the easier cases, yet the disease resisted their most skilled healer.

"It's not working," Hetanel muttered with a frustrated growl seeping in between his words.

"What can we do?" Castiel asked.

Hetanel shook his head. "I don't know."

"There has to be something to stop it if there was something to trigger it--"

"--I said I don't know, Cas!" shouted Hetanel. It was his turn to drag a distraught hand through his hair, disturbing the black streaks spilling down his back. "I've never seen an angel disease like this before. Furthermore, I have no idea how the little ones got so sick at the same time while the rest of us are unharmed."

"Maybe whatever's got 'em sick isn't strong enough to get full grown angels sick," Bobby put in from near the sink.

It was a sound theory. Castiel nodded, his mind turning in various directions at the same time. "The last thing we all did together was have Sunday supper at the diner. What if there was something in the food?"

"How would it have gotten in the food in the first place?" asked Bobby.

It had Castiel thinking even faster. He strode to the basement door and called, "Demmie!" down the stairwell where she attended to the sickest fledglings with Sam and Dean.

"Yes?" she called back.

"Was the security system activated at the diner when you left last night?"

"Yes, I activate it every night."

"And is the diner warded against angels?"

"How can I do that? We would never be able to get into our own building. Why? What are you thinking?"

No one responded for a drawn out moment as the possibility - no, the certainty - of what transpired the previous night settled into their minds. Everyone within earshot knew what Castiel was thinking but no one dared to say it out loud. Only the occasional whimper of a sick toddler angel interrupted the silence. The idea that the Order of the Fiery Sword had purposefully attacked the young of their nest was both unheard of and reprehensible. Even in the darkest moments of Heaven's previous wars, going after the young was never done. It was never even considered.

Hard footfalls stomped toward the basement stairs and then Demiel appeared. Her ponytail was loose and drooping down the back of her head and she still wore her bedclothes from the previous night. She looked every inch the young mother with more than one desolately ill child. Thunder filled her eyes as she stared hard into Castiel's face.

"Are you telling me the Order got into MY diner and put something into MY cooking?"

"It's my best theory at the moment," Castiel admitted.

She went silent for a moment and let her eyes drift away from Castiel standing at the top of the stairwell. A burst of bright white grace ignited that narrow space displayed Demiel's explosion of rage. Her fist punched the nearest wall. Inhuman strength sent her fist flying through the drywall as if it was paper. Plaster crumbled to dust, spreading a cloud through the stairwell with splintered chunks at her feet. She said nothing, not even an apology for breaking Bobby's wall. To his credit, Bobby didn't complain or even move. No one did. An angel in the midst of a rage was dangerous even to those they held dear.

Down in the basement, Sam's long frame came into view. He looked just as exhausted as the rest of them, still wearing his bedclothes like the angel trembling with the urge to destroy everything around her. Something in him seemed to recognize a creature sliding further out of control with each passing second. He stepped forward and extended a hand toward her.

"Demmie, honey," he pleaded in a soft voice.

Spinning gracefully on the balls of her feet without tumbling down the stairs, Demiel hissed at Sam. Castiel didn't need to see her face to know she'd spiraled. Grace glowed in her eyes - he knew it in the bright light reflecting off Sam's skin.

"She's in a grace rage, Sam. Be careful," Castiel warned.

Sam's eyes flickered beyond Demiel to Castiel's face and nodded shallowly. Just as he took another step toward her, lightbulbs popped and exploded one by one all over Bobby's house. If the other angels didn't sense Demiel's grace rage building before, they certainly realized something was off in that moment.

For Sam, he never flinched or even stepped back from her once the grace simmering in her vessel began illuminating her skin from inside. He drew near enough to brush his fingertips on her luminescent forearm, unafraid of the nuclear power ready to erupt. The fear a human mother incurred when protecting her children was nothing compared to an angel's awoken maternal instincts when her fledglings were in danger. Castiel felt his control trying to slip at different times that morning too but he never allowed it to slide that far. He knew the others in the nest were struggling to maintain control too. When angels were under attack, their instincts told them to fight back - to kill.

"Look, I know what you're feeling. You want to break their necks. I do too. These kids mean as much to me as anyone here." Sam managed to wrap his hand around Demiel's wrist as he spoke. "So listen. We're gonna find the Order and we're gonna make them pay for what they've done to our kids. You hear me, baby doll? But we gotta organize. We gotta be smart and figure out the best way to beat them. Come on, now. Take my hand."

Along Castiel's side, Mael drifted in close and whispered to him while Sam attempted to defuse Demiel's temper. "Cas, we've got a problem. One of Katrina's pustules ruptured. She needs to be placed with the critical fledglings."

"Where's Hetanel?" Castiel whispered back, looking down at the feverish little girl bundled in a white blanket in Mael's arms.

"He's gone. He left the little ones with Timaniel and me just a couple of minutes ago. There was somebody he had to meet. He said they might know something about what's going on here." Although Mael lightly rocked the fledgling in her arms, her face betrayed her annoyance at having so many sick little ones dumped into her care.

"Sam, it's my fault," blurted Demiel further down the stairwell. Her voice trembled and sounded raw like she'd been screaming for hours. "I didn't ward the diner because it'd make things harder for us to come and go too. I let the Order in."

"You couldn't have known this was going to happen," replied Sam as he clutched her hands.

"Let me see Katrina." Castiel opened his arms.

It didn't seem like the basement stairwell would be cleared away for a few minutes yet while Sam brought Demiel down from her ledge, so Castiel left them alone to examine Katrina's ruptured pustule. None of the other fledglings experienced ruptures. She was one of the less affected fledglings and suddenly she became one of the most critical. Nothing about that angel disease made sense even after hours of rolling his mind back through history to find something like it.

Bobby helped them swap Evelyn out for Katrina on the kitchen table, which had temporarily become their hospital table. The old man bundled her up in another blanket - they didn't think it was a good idea to let one child's things touch another child's things while they were sick - and he began humming an old Irish drinking song to her in that salty aged voice so familiar to the entire family. None of the fledglings fought being held and rocked like little babies now that they had no energy left to run and play. It was like turning back the clock to when they were tiny and Bobby's house was filled with diapers and baby bottles. It would have made Castiel nostalgic if the cause of the time warp wasn't so terrifying and wrong.

Together, Castiel and Mael unwrapped the blanket burritoed around Katrina. She trembled slightly with fever as she laid exposed on the kitchen table in her thin little nightgown. Hetanel recently began letting Katrina choose her own clothes and she seemed to embrace her female vessel by choosing clothes designed for that gender.

"Right here." Mael lifted the little girl's nightgown to above her belly and showed Castiel the neon purple rash. Part of the angry flesh had risen and torn in a series of large bumps like smallpox, yet what leaked from the wound resembled a diluted version of the purple rash.

"Bobby, take a look at this," beckoned Castiel.

The grandfather of the nest angled Evelyn away in his arms to protect her from the disease in her cousin as he bent to peer down at Katrina's belly. His brows lowered over his eyes. "Why's it such a lighter color?"

Castiel hesitated to touch it in case it could be transferred the same way as smallpox. Instead, he reached for the roll of paper towels on the counter and used one to absorb some of the liquid from Katrina's wound. Then he opened the paper towel in his hand and held it to the light. There, mixed into the diseased pus like a slick of oil resisting water, he recognized grace. It wasn't much but he suddenly understood.

"This disease is attacking their graces," he said grimly. "Look. It's right there. You can see a streak of Katrina running through it."

Horrified, Mael's fingertips opened the paper towel a little wider so she could see the ugly truth. Stunned into silence, she began shaking her head as if falling into hard denial.

"Isn't it like blood?" Bobby asked. "Won't it just replenish?"

"A mature angel is able to regenerate lost grace over time but we don't know about the effects of disease on grace that hasn't matured yet. It's possible this disease will bleed them dry of all angelic power unless we stop it," Castiel explained. He looked at Mael. "Bind up any open wounds like these the way humans bind up their open wounds. Bobby?"

"I'll show her," he said.

"Keep the fledglings with open wounds completely separate from the other fledglings," he also ordered.

"Are you leaving us?" asked Mael, unable to conceal her fear.

"I'm going to find Hetanel. We need to figure out what this disease is and learn how to stop it if I have to torture every member of the Order of the Fiery cross to do it." Castiel tugged his sleeves up and washed his hands in the kitchen sink.

"What about Dean?" asked Bobby in a knowing tone.

"He won't leave James and I don't want him to for the moment," Castiel said with more confidence than he felt, moving for the front door. "I have my phone. Call me if anything changes. I'll try to be back as soon as I can."


	20. Chapter 20

It wasn't the constant wailing of the stronger fledglings that unnerved Sam. It was the listless quiet shrouding Katrina as she lay over his forearm, dark eyes peering up at him as if she knew the mysterious disease slowly drained her grace. So far none of the pustules had ruptured on the other little ones. Without Hetanel there for his own child, however, Sam took on the responsibility.

"How's the bandage holdin' up?" Bobby asked, passing through the basement where the worst cases were quarantined.

"So far so good," replied Sam from the rocking chair moved downstairs.

The old man slid a plastic laundry basket across the dryer and opened the washer for a new load of toddler laundry. "Your brother's got James bandaged up like a mummy up there."

"Has James ruptured?"

"No," put in Demmie, rocking her twins with her eyes closed, "but he's much more fearful than he cares to admit. If James loses any grace to this disease, he'll never forgive himself."

"Mm." The low sound conveyed Sam's understanding. Looking down at Katrina, he mumbled, "I'm pretty well-schooled in Dean's guilt issues."

Demmie opened one eye. "Maybe you should go talk to him."

"It won't help."

"Seems like Cas is the only one who can talk that boy off the ledge anymore," added Bobby as he turned the knobs, making the old washer rumble into life. "Mael and Timaniel are up there helpin' him with the other three kids. Nobody's gotten worse but nobody's gotten better either. Wherever Cas and Hetanel went, they better get the dicks who did this before the other kids start losing their graces too. Not for nothin' but the purple pus is harder to wash out of these kiddie clothes than all the blood I ever had to wash out of my stuff."

Demmie sighed across the room as Noah squirmed uncomfortably on her lap. "You need another diaper." The strain of two seriously ill children seemed to etch faint lines on her vessel's face as she handed off Evelyn to Bobby and grabbed a diaper from the pack on a shelf over the washer and dryer. "Sam, you need to tell me where Cas and Hetanel are if you know something. I can't just sit here doing nothing after rogue angels broke into my diner and poisoned my food. I can't...." Her voice broke off, shaky and emotional, while she changed one of dozens of diapers that day. Potty training flew out the window for all of the fledglings when the diarrhea and vomiting symptoms manifested with a vengeance.

"You're doing something," argued Sam. "You're being a mother. Sick children need their parents."

"You did fine as a sick child without your parents," she countered.

"Not happily," Bobby put in with a low, reflective tone. "Don't do what his dad did to him."

Frustrated, Demiel wadded up the dirty diaper and hurled it across the basement into the trash can. She raked a hand through her hair, messing up her orderly ponytail even more.

*****

Sunlight just reached over the treetops at the exact spot on the country road where Castiel and Dean had first encountered the Order of the Fiery Sword. He knew that was where he'd find Hetanel without tracking him. They'd been working so seamlessly of late that no military unit could have functioned better, even above in Heaven. Working with Hetanel removed the emotional element from tactical maneuvering, which was what concerned him the most if Dean had been his right hand. The problem was bigger than his marriage. It was about the future of their fledglings and the right of all angels to choose where and how they lived.

Castiel rolled up slowly in his red Cutlass, careful not to disturb the proceedings. Another angel unknown to him carried kindling to a fire pit Hetanel had built in the middle of the road. Scorch marks on the pavement suggested the angel in a Northern Cheyenne man's vessel blasted a hole to the earth with his grace. Castiel swallowed down the urge to reprimand him for breaking the no grace rule but he understood why it was done there. They needed to trace the rebels and the best way to accomplish it was to conduct the tracking spell at a place where they'd been in the past. He'd have to repair the damage to the road before they left the area or it'd end up in the news falsely reported as Satanic ritual.

"Hetanel," he greeted with a nod. "Who is this?"

Enormous standing there in the road with black hair streaming behind him, Hetanel made a vague gesture at his companion. "This is Arturial. She was a medic with me in the war with Lucifer. She was my commander, actually."

The man nodded politely. "Castiel. Your reputation proceeds you."

Oh. Living on Earth for so long apparently dulled Castiel's senses when it came to his own kind. He'd misjudged the vessel and took it for the angel inside without a second thought. Arturial was one of the few angels early on who declared her preference for a human gender when she was assigned to live among them.

"I couldn't find an available woman," she said in a deep voice that didn't match her gentle mannerisms.

"No matter." Castiel raised a hand and shook his head. That wasn't pertinent to the desperate matter of their sick fledglings and he truthfully didn't care if Arturial preferred giraffes or sperm whales for vessels as long as she was able to help. "Are you the contact Hetanel spoke of who might be able to give us information?"

"I can do better than giving you information about the rebels," she replied as she started the fire with a flick of her fingers. "I've seen the disease affecting your nest."

"It's old," Hetanel filled in. "Older than any of us, which is why we don't recognize it."

"Explain," demanded Castiel in his hard monotone.

"Lucifer wasn't the first to rebel. Raphael tried it before and failed so miserably that God took mercy on him and had the rebellion stricken from all of Heaven's records. The ones born after Raphael's rebellion were never told about it." As she spoke, Arturial walked a slow circle around the fire and dumped ingredients Castiel recognized as a summoning spell. "He had intended to erase all of humanity with a plague. Archangels never liked sharing God with the hairless apes, as you know. Except something went wrong with the plague Raphael had created and it only made humans marginally sick. They call it influenza today. One very rare strain of influenza not only has the strength to kill a human if it goes untreated but it attacks angelic grace as well, eventually rendering the angel powerless. Angel symptoms manifest differently than human symptoms do too. Once the angel is human, the influenza goes to work killing the human body if the angel happens to be using one like your fledglings are now."

"Purple rash?" asked Hetanel.

Arturial nodded.

The hair rose on Castiel's neck and arms as the implications sank in his mind. "Why have we never seen this disease until now?"

Arturial squatted over the fire with her male human hands spread over the fire as if warming herself. The dull glow of grace shining through her palms suggested she conducted a spell instead.

"Because God eradicated it before it could do real damage," replied Hetanel for her. "Raphael never meant to harm our own kind and he begged for forgiveness. So God forgave."

"But obviously there still remained some of the plague if our fledglings are sick now," argued Castiel.

"Some of it was saved," answered Arturial. "God decreed that Raphael's plague be studied by the commanders of the medic corps should angels ever feel the desire to attempt playing with biological warfare ever again."

"You studied this disease," Castiel said, peering down at her.

"Medics don't come by knowledge easily. We must study as human doctors do." In fact, Arturial's brows knitted lower as if she was offended.

The truth was Castiel had never considered where medics got their training or how they came to hold their positions. He remembered seeing them roam Heaven's battlefields with their healing techniques to repair damaged grace or, if the damage was too much, to give the wounded angel an honorable true death. Work with his own garrison kept him far too busy to give much thought to such a small sect of the angel population. Briefly, he pictured Hetanel doing the work under Arturial's command and doing it with the quiet dignity he'd always maintained with their fledglings.

"What do you know about influenza?" he blurted.

"A great deal - both angelic and human strains. I was assigned to conduct healings in London, Paris, and various places in America during the Spanish Flu that occurred during World War I. Many of us were, in fact, because the pandemic had God concerned that it wasn't begun by natural occurrences but by one of our own from within."

Hetanel lowered his eyes. "Is it beginning again?"

"Possibly."

Pinching the bridge of his nose and then rubbing his eyes made Castiel look rather human and he knew it but his thoughts raced too much to resume angelic mannerisms. "Wait a minute. How would the Order even have access to a disease God eradicated so long ago?"

"Samples went missing from our research and teaching facility six months ago. Maybe more," said Arturial.

"Where is this facility?" Castiel demanded.

"Adjacent to the rehabilitation center."

Without speaking, Hetanel and Castiel met eyes over Arturial at the fire. The rehabilitation center was Heaven-speak for the place where rebellious angels were sent to be reprogrammed by those trained in such matters. Pieces fell together in Castiel's mind. He could almost see it, the shrouded figure of his unknown angel-sister slipping into the angel's medic research facility because she worked as a re-programmer and she knew that sector of Heaven so well. If he was a betting man, he'd bet the house he'd just bought with Dean that it was Limaneal who stole the samples needed to begin a disease outbreak. It was his own sister who unleashed this torment on his nest. Part of him had hoped the entire time that she'd been acting under duress, that Claudiel had something over her head to force her hand. But no. No. Castiel realized she played her part like an eager volunteer.

"Why are they doing this?" he mumbled, lowering to the ground as if he hadn't the strength to stand upright.

Arturial remained cool and collected as she worked her way through the summoning spell with her ill-fitting male vessel. "My estimate on this matter after Hetanel described the Order's terms is total outbreak of disease in Sioux Falls. When you don't comply, which it's clear they think you won't, then they'll reveal your true identities along with the false accusation that you brought pestilence on the good people here."

"It's insurance for humans here to turn against us," Hetanel said with an agreeing nod.

"Making your nest sick is just a warning," surmised Arturial in return. "Humans will be next."

As the revelations sank in, Castiel knew they were right. It was so much worse than he anticipated. The Order of the Fiery Sword was far more intelligent and organized than even Gabriel had estimated, which led Castiel to wondering why Gabriel hadn't known about the disease samples being stolen from Heaven. Maybe he did know but he hadn't thought it was important enough to tell them. A flare of anger licked up the inside of Castiel's chest like fire as he thought of his father figure. The anger still confused and drained him until he decided it was a distraction they couldn't afford.

"Who are you summoning?" he asked after she finished the spell.

"The one who educated me as a medic," Arturial replied while they waited. She jerked her chin up at Hetanel. "He's already completed the tracking spell on Jeremy Batt's soul. How ever Claudiel is commanding the rebels, it's not from here. The vessel is in Chicago."

"I made this to alert me if Claudial leaves Chicago. It'll turn red." Hetanel lifted a large blue glass bead from inside of his shirt strung on a thin piece of leather.

Standing again, Castiel made a decision and spoke in a tone that meant he would only accept perfect obedience. "All right, then. You and your fellow medic will come immediately to tend to my nest."

*****

Rushed stomping pounded across the floor over Sam's head. Even before Dean flung open the basement door, Sam was on his feet and handing Katrina over to Bobby without waking her.

"Sammy! Now!"

"Go," urged Demiel. "I've got it here."

Sam bounded up the basement stairwell past the hole his fiancee had punched into the wall. He took the stairs two at a time and almost ran smack into his older brother, something that would have prompted a rude retort until he noticed the terror in Dean's eyes. Dean Winchester was never afraid of anything. The younger brother built his entire childhood around the heroic qualities of the older brother's fearless way of pushing through barriers in life.

"What the hell, Dean?"

Without answering him, Dean darted through the kitchen into the living room where most of the playpens were set up for the fledglings who weren't so sick. Dean sat on the old sofa in front of the window beside James. The toddler with Castiel's mess of dark hair and Dean's freckles lay off to one side quite listless in his mummy wrappings just the way Bobby described it.

"Hey, buddy," said Sam as he knelt next to the glassy-eyed toddler.

"It hurt, Uncle Sammy," murmured James as if he'd just woken.

Sam tilted his head. "What hurts?"

"Here." Moving like a man in shock, Dean pulled the gauze away from his son's left forearm. Diluted purple liquid seeped from a lengthy rupture in James' swollen neon rash. "Where the fuck is Hetanel?"

"DD, no bad word!" In spite of a high fever and a newly ruptured rash, James still bossed his family.

"He's gone to find answers," replied Sam in a quiet tone.

"And Cas?" It looked like Dean was gritting his teeth.

"Gone to find answers too."

Swearing under his breath again, Dean began to resemble Demiel just before she flew into her grace rage earlier in the morning. Dean didn't have any grace but his rage, when provoked, could be just as bad. It made Sam shudder to think of how dark Dean could go when faced with the undeniable truth that someone had intentionally harmed his child. They were all feeling the tension, of course, but brother to brother brought a deeper understanding of the undercurrents of familial bonds. There was nothing Sam could do to stop his brother from being so afraid for his child when he struggled to keep a cap on the fear simmering in his gut for the children he shared with Demiel.

Sam took over for his brother, who shot upright from the sofa and began pacing a circuit around the room. He sat on his knees doing his best to clean the rupture site without causing more of a split in James' tender toddler flesh. Mael slid in behind him without speaking and offered clean gauze and ointment with a numbing agent in it that had been helping Katrina downstairs. James whimpered from time to time but made a valiant effort to be stoic and brave like his parents. It was his duty as an uncle, Sam decided, to praise the boy for being brave and not crying while he cleaned the wound and wrapped it in clean bandages. That was all they could do for the moment. No human medication made much of a dent in the vomiting, diarrhea, or the coughing and congestion now manifesting in Noah and William - the two fledglings with vessels quite prone to sickness.

"Good boy," Sam murmured to his nephew.

Mael nodded. "So very brave."

Small arms wrapped in gauze reached out for Sam. How could he refuse? He gathered James into the broad warmth of his embrace and moved, sitting up on the sofa. Mael brought a clean baby quilt and tucked it around James as his little head drooped against his uncle's chest, apparently feeling safe enough to let his little body sleep.

"Cas is on his way back," announced Dean, having left the room when Sam wasn't looking, and reappeared with his phone. "He thinks he found somebody to help the kids."

"What, another angel?" Sam asked.

"I guess. I dunno." Dean's eyes softened as he looked over James limp and asleep in Sam's arms. "Sammy, I need you to go into town and check on Molly. I don't like any of this. They're gonna be after her next. It's what I'd do."

Sam's brow furrowed and his instincts recoiled from that idea. "You want me to leave my kids?"

A peculiar calm fell over Dean's eyes as he spoke. "So far your kids aren't as sick as mine. I'd go if I could but I'm not leaving without my boy. She's got my other kid in her belly, Sam. I'm telling you, please, go into town and make sure she's safe."

"Fine. Take your kid." Annoyed, Sam stood and handed James into his father's arms.

"I'll watch your fledglings, Sam," offered Timaniel in the hall. "I'll help Demiel."

"Thanks, Tim." Sam squeezed his shoulder on his way out.


	21. Chapter 21

The house was unusually dark when Castiel and Hetanel brought the two high-ranking medic officers back. He swung the front door open wide, striding through the front hall as if he expected to find the house empty. At that point, nothing would have surprised him.

"Close the door, boy," Bobby growled in a tone that pointed to exhaustion and fear. "Who are they?"

Obeying, though it made the house even darker, Castiel shut the door and pointed out the newcomers. "This is Arturial and Sholitziel. They're medic officers in Heaven's army."

"On our side," Hetanel added hastily.

Bobby hesitated for a moment in the shadows and it was only then that Castiel noticed the rifle clutched in both of the old man's hands. The hesitation gave way to relief, however, and Bobby stepped aside so they could pass into the living room where Castiel had left most of the little ones. It was remarkably quieter in the house than when he left, making him panic for a moment until he scanned the building for evidence of life. All of the fledglings were accounted for but two adults were missing. He squinted, allowing his vessel's pupils to grow larger as he passed into the living room without waiting for explanation.

"James?"

There Dean sat wedged into one corner of the sofa with James bundled and asleep in his arms. Immediately Castiel looked over his son, kneeling and peering through the baby quilt in a way that a human could not. Inside the blanket and inside the bandage, he found the slash in his little forearm. He almost smelled the fledgling grace leaking through the potent odor of angelic infectious disease.

"Where have you been?" Dean asked quietly, his words slipping over his tongue like an accusation.

"We needed help. I brought two medics from Heaven." When Dean started to protest, Castiel pressed his fingers to his lips in a bid for silence. "They've seen this disease before. It's very old. Humans were still very new to existence. It's a cross-species disease that can affect all of us and that's why I brought help."

Hetanel reached for the drawn curtains over the sofa while they talked.

"Don't," ordered Bobby. "Sunlight's makin' the little grunts cry in pain now."

"It's the influenza acting on their human vessels," declared Arturial, speaking for the first time.

"What influenza?" Dean groused. "Dude, who are you? I've never seen any flu with a purple drippy rash."

Arturial ignored Dean for the moment as she dropped a bag off her hard male shoulder and crouched before the sofa, attention fixated on James. "I'm not a dude," she said evenly, though it sounded strange in her vessel's baritone voice. "I'm a lady, Mr. Winchester. Please give me the fledgling and I'll soon know the exact particulars of his condition."

For once, Dean tilted his head the way Castiel did when he was confused.

"Vessels aren't necessarily reflective of the angels inside of them," Castiel explained absently as he slid his hands under James, careful of his bandages. The fledgling awoke, rubbing sleepy eyes with his fists. "My son, I brought a doctor for you. This is Arturial. She's going to tell us why you feel sick."

James nodded. His wide green eyes looked upon the gentle smile of the angel medic, shy of meeting a strange angel unknown to their nest.

"Cas...."

"It's all right, Dean. Credentials are authentic."

The hunter in Dean had his hackles up and Castiel draped a comforting hand over his knee. He never took his eyes off the angel medic while she fished through her bag for the supplies needed to examine him. There was a thermometer, of course. A blood pressure cuff nearly sent Dean flying off the sofa until Arturial explained that she could get a reading from his unaffected arm without hurting the little one. James bore the examination in stoic silence for a fledgling so young but Castiel knew his young far surpassed expectations when it came to wisdom and emotional stability.

"I'll take you to see the fledglings in the basement," Hetanel said to the other medic, who carried the same supplies in his shoulder bag. His voice, speaking of his little Katrina, disappeared in the stairwell.

Soon Arturial had a medical chart going for one James Winchester. She recorded his temperature, blood pressure, the severity of his rash, and she diagrammed the locations of his ruptures. Convincing Dean to allow her access took some effort when he realized she had to unwrap all of the carefully placed bandages. Her focus sent Castiel's mind spiraling back to Heaven's many wars in which the army medics maneuvered through the fighting without flinching at all. He should have paid more attention to them. He should have given some of his garrison to guarding their work, to protecting them from enemy attack. The idea that army medics would be looking after his fledgling nest so many centuries later stunned him, sitting there on the floor watching over the proceedings with Dean like all worried parents of sick children.

Once a chart was created for James, she gave his open wounds new bandages without speaking a word and moved on to the next fledgling. Mael brought William to Arturial and the same system carried on like the medic used Bobby's house as a triage unit. As William cried, unable to understand why the stranger pressed on his tummy and listened to his bowels, Dean read James' notes over and over again. Castiel watched him try to make sense of it all but that moment wasn't the time. He decided to call a family meeting in Bobby's kitchen after Arturial upstairs and Sholitziel in the basement had a chance to thoroughly examine each of the nest's fledglings.

"Wait, where is Sam?" Castiel asked.

Dean patted James' bottom and tried rocking him back to sleep. "I sent him to town. Molly's alone out there."

"She can't come here," said Castiel.

"Why?"

"This is influenza. She'll catch it. It's probably already taking root in all of us but most of us should be all right as long as our immunity is strong enough. We can't risk Molly getting sick, especially while she's carrying our child."

"I don't understand. The flu doesn't kill people. It's just an annoying bug that goes away in a few days."

"No." Castiel shook his head. "This isn't seasonal flu. It's a disease created by Raphael early in human history in his misguided attempt to wipe out humanity to redirect God's full attention back to angels. The disease mutated without Raphael's knowledge and it began making angels sick. For humans, it attacks red blood cells. It's a respiratory disease. For angels, it attacks grace. A life force for a life force."

"Respi--some of the kids have started coughing."

Mael nodded, sitting in a chair across the room with William in her arms and Timaniel's fledgling asleep in a playpen at her feet. "William has a cough."

Then it was spreading faster than Castiel anticipated. He pressed on with his story. "God eradicated the disease but kept enough of it for medics like Arturial and Sholitziel to study in their training for war. Some of the disease samples were stolen from Heaven about six months ago."

"The Order," Dean snarled.

"My sister," replied Castiel, his voice slipping into guilt. "We believe the Order intends to spread the disease throughout Sioux Falls to ensure our community's hatred and the hatred of any community in which we try to relocate should we refuse to comply with their demands. It's not enough to unveil the existence of angels in Sioux Falls. They must be certain of our villainy too. So this influenza will spread if we don't comply and we will be blamed for the dead. Our conclusion on the way here came to one thing. They made our children sick as a warning. Obey them or face more of this influenza."

"Is this the Spanish Flu?" asked Mael. "I remember that. Fifty million humans were killed."

"Yes." Castiel nodded dismally. "I believe Claudiel has had access to the disease samples far longer than our medics know. There were rumors of God's sorrow upon receiving so many dead into Heaven in 1918 through 1920. Many angels in my garrison were nervous because they'd never heard of God experiencing sorrow before and it led to a short period of chaos in Heaven as well as Earth."

A long sigh poured from Mael's lips. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know yet." Castiel slipped his finger into James' hand. "I'll think of something. No humans or angels will die because of me. I'll die first."

The afternoon wore on in an unsettled state of suspension. Bobby's home developed such a quiet presence that it turned into a monastic place in Castiel's opinion. The darkness didn't help but no one dared cause the fledglings pain by allowing sunlight into the house. Arturial and Sholitziel moved seamlessly together, trading upstairs for down as the little ones required more attentive care. At mid-afternoon, Timaniel volunteered to go into town and pick up fried chicken dinners for the humans in the household even though no one had yet heard from Sam yet.

"Castiel," beckoned Sholitziel when they crossed paths in the front hall. He took a vessel that resembled a barroom bouncer with an elaborately shaped beard and multiple tattoos and piercings.

Castiel tucked a bundle of baby quilts under one arm. "Yes?"

"The human Dean keeps asking why we can't simply touch the fledglings and heal them. I have explained numerous times about why we cannot but I believe the technicalities are beyond his capabilities of comprehension."

"Dean is a highly intelligent man," replied Castiel in a burst of defensiveness. He took a breath and tried again. "I'll explain it to him.

The angel medic called Sholitziel nodded, ticking through a list in his mind, it seemed. "We must establish a better facility for treating the infected members of this nest. It's highly irregular treating disease in a human living room and basement--"

"--I'm not taking my nest to Heaven."

"Nor did I intend to suggest it. That's a strategic mistake that defeats the purpose of fighting the rebellion," replied Sholitziel with an arched brow.

"What then?" Fidgeting, Castiel passed the bundle of blankets from one arm to another.

"Allow Arturial and I to create a safe structure outside of this region where your nest may hide its young until they're able to defend themselves again."

It was Castiel's turn to arch a brow. "Leave Sioux Falls?"

"Just remove to the woods. Every earthen creature takes measures to hide its young from predators." Sholitziel allowed him a moment to think it over and Castiel considered the possibility of a trap until he peered into the medic angel's grace. He was offering a truthful idea that had already been discussed with Arturial in private. Sholitziel continued, "If you allow us to relocate the nest to a building we create by grace, it'll be more than adequate for treating this disease. It'll give your nest an infinitely higher chance of survival."

"Do it."

Both Castiel and Sholitziel spun. There Dean stood in the living room doorway like a thick shadow in the darkened house.

Castiel stepped closer. "Dean, are you sure--"

Before they had a chance to hash out the wisdom of moving their children elsewhere, the front door exploded open and bounced off the wall. Rain poured outside behind Sam's enormous figure in the doorway. When had the early summer storm rolled into Sioux Falls? Then Castiel noticed the lifeless form draped across Sam's arms with a skirt dripping rain water onto the threshold.

"Help!" blurted Sam, stumbling inside and sinking to his knees as if carrying the load drained his strength.

Dean, Sholitziel, and Castiel rushed toward Sam and the figure in his arms at once. Molly. The pregnant mound of her belly rose and fell with her labored breathing, instilling a sense of fear in Castiel that he hadn't known in decades if not centuries.

"She's got the sickness," Sam said, panting, as he allowed Sholitziel and Dean to pick her up. "I pounded on her door for five minutes. I could hear the radio in there so I thought she had to be home. Once I kicked down the door, I got inside and found her in bed barely conscious. There were Kleenex and flu medication boxes all over her nightstand but I couldn't get her to talk to me at all. She just laid there wheezing like William was doing when I left."

"She's burning up," Dean muttered when he spread her out on the sofa.

"Pulse is fast and thready," added Sholitziel like Dean was a medic too. "Go get me as much ice as you can. We must get this fever under control or the human fetus will die."

Though he was still out of breath, Sam struggled to his feet and followed Dean into the kitchen.

"Two other people in her building are ill," said Sholitziel as he examined Molly. "She was trying to help them. Bringing soup to an elderly woman above her floor was where she caught the influenza." Sholitziel closed his eyes and clutched her hand for the rest of the story. "An angel in a female vessel put the disease in the building's water pipes. It wasn't under Claudiel's orders." His eyes popped open and he stared at Castiel.

"It was about me," said Castiel in a tone so quiet the soft thunder outside almost overrode it. "The angel - she was my sister. She was trying to hurt me."


	22. Chapter 22

Tension thrummed through the new building's walls no matter where Castiel went. He eyed the human occupants, wondering if they felt it too. While they remained fixated on their children laid out in individual toddler beds evenly spaced through the ground floor, he pushed himself to focus on the bigger picture. The fledgling nest was in good hands under the care of Arturial and Sholitziel. It was his duty to find a solution, to find a cure, which he knew only came from getting The Order of the Fiery Sword off their backs.

Arturial and Sholitziel had moved quickly, he reflected, once Dean agreed to moving the nest away from Bobby's place. The two angel medics located an abandoned building in the wilderness ten miles west of Sioux Falls and converted it to a temporary quarantine facility for the sick. Upon entering the refurbished building, accomplished with the power of angelic grace, a person was prompted to put their coats on wall hooks and thoroughly wash up to their elbows in a pair of stainless steel sinks. People passed into the next room, much larger, featuring three toddler beds against one wall and three more against the opposite wall. An enormous rectangular table in the middle of the room provided people and angels alike with a place to consult books or maps while watching over six little patients. Taking the back stairs led a visitor to an identical room on the floor above where human patients were housed - so far only Molly and a few people who lived in her building. They were without a doubt much sicker than the fledglings without the benefit of internal grace.

"Find anything yet?" Sam asked, leaning over the work table.

"Nothing but an exemplary service record," replied Castiel with a dejected sigh. "There is no sign of why or how my sister got involved with The Order."

"Maybe the how or why doesn't matter."

Castiel glanced at Sam in the shadows brought on by nighttime. "I suppose that could be true."

"I only mean maybe it doesn't matter in the long run, you know, trying to stop The Order from spreading this influenza. I know it matters to you personally. It'd eat away at me."

"The key can't be with Limaneal. It has to be the leader, Claudiel." As he spoke, Castiel snapped shut the blue leather record book passed along from Gabriel days before. He wished Sam or Dean could read Enochian and help him review everything, not that anyone could pry Dean away from James' bedside. "I believe it'll soon be time to take a trip to Chicago. The truth is we aren't going to accomplish anything until we face the enemy head on."

"Are we ready for The Order to be so aware of what we know yet?" asked Sam. He pulled out a chair and flopped into it, limbs splayed in exhaustion.

"I don't know."

Dean's rough voice spoke up from the back corner by James' bed. "I'm ready to kick some ass."

It was difficult to ignore the red blazing condition of Dean's soul but Castiel avoided getting sucked into his blind rage. One of them had to maintain some semblance of an equilibrium instead of running into the night with their guns drawn and no real clue of what they faced. He felt Demiel's eyes on him from the front of the room as well. She, at least, had the sort of combat training that kept her boiling temper from spilling over the pot out of control. All of them craved the release that came with allowing grace rage to control them. Castiel included. Every time he watched Arturial or Sholitziel clean ruptured pustuals on James' arm and the new ones on his little chest, he fantasized about smiting The Order on his own. He'd take it slow and enjoy the sensation of their graces draining away.

"If we kill them too soon, we won't know what to do about this influenza," said Castiel as if all of them had been listening to his thoughts.

"The only way they'll give us the cure or whatever is if we agree to give our kids back to the winged dicks upstairs. I'm not giving my boy to a bunch of harp players ready to brainwash him five seconds after they get up there. No son of mine is gonna be raised to see people as animals beneath his dignity. I'd rather let him--."

Each of them knew what Dean was ready to say. The hum of voices and footsteps upstairs even paused as if the rest of the nest wondered if he'd actually say it out loud. Dean would rather let his boy die than see him in the hands of the old regime who still clung to the vision of God's obedient Heaven before Gabriel became king. And although he didn't voice it, Castiel found himself debating whether he too would rather see James dead than raised in blind obedience the way he had been raised. He couldn't entirely reject the most awful scenario. That was dangerous in itself.

Pushing himself up from the table, Castiel made his way to Dean and laid hands over his shoulders. He rubbed their breadth as both of them peered down at their fledgling lying in the little bed. A guinea pig wheel squeaked on the wall shelf behind them, breaking the tense silence. That was Dean's idea. He thought bringing the guinea pigs from home would give the nest a sense of familiarity.

"Sorry. I didn't mean that," whispered Dean hoarsely. He reached up to caress Castiel's hand on his shoulder. The rocking chair he occupied began to move in faint nervous bursts.

"No one believes you did," Castiel replied.

"I want their hearts on silver platters," Dean snarled after a moment.

In his gentlest manner, Castiel bent down and looped his arms around Dean's shoulders to speak in soft, private tones. "As do I," he admitted, "but we can't kill Claudiel only to make him a martyr to those in rebellion. He's holding an innocent soul hostage."

"Jeremy Batt."

"Yes," said Castiel, "and we're under orders not to kill. At least not yet. Gabriel doesn't want his reign marred by executing angels the way the old regime did."

With a scoff, Dean shook his head. "He's not my king."

"But he is mine. Your son's too."

Dean's jaw clenched. His profile turned severe as the dim light deepened the hollow appearance around his eyes. Since the sick couldn't tolerate the brightness provided by sunlight or electricity, Arturial and Sholitziel fitted the temporary quarantine building with wall-mounted oil lamps. It gave the building a chilling isolated sensation at night the way Castiel imagined it must have been like during the Spanish Flu pandemic during the first World War.

"I want you to call Gabriel here," said Dean.

At first, Castiel couldn't think of a way to answer him.

"I'm serious, Cas," he went on. "If he's the King of Heaven now, he'll know what to do about this influenza crap. You call him here and you make him fix our boy. Make him fix Molly before her body loses the kid we haven't even met yet."

"Dean, I--."

Bursting upright, Dean shook off Castiel's arms and stalked around James' bed with an accusing arm pointed at the little child. "Cas, you won't make me a father and then stand there with your thumb up your ass while my kids die right in front of me!"

"They're my kids too!" Castiel shouted with an unexpected wave of ferocity.

That was Sam's cue, it seemed. He emerged from the shadows across the room and placed himself at the end of James' bed exactly between his two parents. "Guys, not here," he said in a low voice.

Demiel, carrying the sleeping form of Evelyn in her arms, slid into the battle beside Sam but she lacked his compassion. She stared Castiel down through exhausted dark eyes, and then shifted her focus to Dean. "We're all at risk here. It's not just about you two," she spat. "I don't think there's a body in this building right now who expected to be part of a nest and raising fledgling angels but we're here and this is the problem at hand."

"We're sitting here wasting time when he's got a direct line to the throne!" Dean barked.

"Enough!" Demiel hissed. "Pointing fingers and sniping at each other isn't going to help our young. Most of them might be in deep feverish sleep but don't think for a second that they can't feel it when we start turning on each other. Grow up and stop acting like you're the only ones in anguish here."

Maybe it was the hard tone Demiel used or maybe it was the way she made her point but Castiel swallowed back his own accusatory tone. When he saw Dean's pointed hand drop to his side a few moments later, he knew she'd succeeded at dismantling the bomb. At least for the moment. Dean had a habit of picking fights with Castiel or Sam to let off steam in high-pressure situations.

It was the last thing he wanted to do but Castiel knew Dean was right. He had to go call for Gabriel now that the stakes were so much higher. Perhaps Gabriel knew of a cure for the mutated influenza and they wouldn't have to try and negotiate with The Order of the Fiery Sword after all. A gnawing sensation in the pit of his vessel's stomach suggested that wasn't the case. Still, he had to try before Molly or one of the other humans upstairs died. And down there on the ground floor, it was only a matter of time before the influenza completely drained away the immature graces in the fledglings' little bodies. Once that happened, according to Arturial and Sholitziel, the little ones would be mortal and the disease would eat away at their flesh and blood bodies in a matter of days.

"All right," he whispered. Being plagued by indecision had to stop.

Castiel bent over the bed and slid his ring finger into James' limp hand. "Daddy's going to get help," he told the sleeping child as he smoothed back damp hair from his feverish brow. There he noticed the glimmer of purple infection just beneath the skin, ready to burst. "DD's going to be here with you. We won't leave you alone. Hold onto my voice, James. Hold onto DD's voice. We love you very much and we're going to get the medicine to make you feel better. I promise."

On the other side of the bed, Dean leaned over with him. "I'm right here, buddy."

Castiel lifted the hair from James' forehead again and gave Dean a pointed look. He didn't want to announce the approaching rupture of another pustule in case the fledgling could indeed hear their voices while he slept.

"I'll watch it," answered Dean grimly with a sharp nod.

"I'll be back as soon as I know something," Castiel said in a tone that left no room for discussion.

Looking back would have been too hard. Seeing the scope of six beds all dependent on him for survival would have brought back the paralysis of indecision. Castiel squeezed Dean's hand in passing, unable to even trust his courage for a kiss or a simple embrace no matter how much he needed it. He considered calling for Hetanel but didn't do it in the end. Facing Gabriel when the anger still flared in his gut put him in uncharted territory. He wanted no witnesses to the possibility of having to set aside his pride to beg the King of Heaven to help his nest. It didn't matter that Gabriel never told Castiel there was a sister out there, nor did it matter that such a sister probably played a role in reprogramming him at some point. James mattered. His unborn child mattered. The nest mattered. Innocent human lives mattered. Leaving the quarantine building felt like walking to his own execution. As much as he hated himself for being that dramatic, he realized it amounted to the developing human emotions within - pride, jealousy, anger, sorrow. Castiel the angel achieved the darkest parts of humanity.

He walked for an hour. He pushed aside branches drooping low from trees dripping with recent rainfall. Not much of South Dakota was wooded but Arturial and Sholitziel managed to find an area shrouded by trees, which made it difficult for angels in flight to spot life on the ground. When Castiel's boots sloshed through a shallow creek, he gave it no mind. The balmy air of summer swept up from the south, making nighttime warm enough to hike without jackets in spite of being close to Canada. Moonlight dappled the narrow deer path ahead, although Castiel's angel vision didn't need extra light. He forced his vessel's pupils open wide the way a cat drew in light to move seamlessly in the dark.

The woods opened into a narrow meadow bordered by another branch of the creek he'd just crossed. It was as good a place as any, he decided. The risk of being overheard by The Order occurred to him as he stepped into the center of the meadow but he was armed and so were the angels left in the quarantine building. Under Demiel's leadership, they wouldn't breach the warding defenses she'd put in place. Chances were higher that they had no idea where Castiel had hidden the nest anyway.

A deep breath fortified Castiel's vessel but it didn't silence the prideful voice inside from going bitter toward asking Gabriel for help. His nest needed him though. As long as he kept the image of his feverish fledgling close to the surface of his thoughts, he could do it.

Castiel sank to his knees in the wet grass. Rain soaked through his jeans but that was the most common way he'd seen humans pray before he lived among them. Suddenly he wished Molly was well enough to be there with him since she was the most religious human he knew. She would know how to do it, how to make that connection with the celestial unknown. With his hands pressed together, he considered what to say.

"Gabriel....." he began with a halting sound at the back of his throat. "Um... Gabriel. I'm praying to the archangel Gabriel for help with my sick child. Please come to me and ... uh ... give me your divine guidance in our time of need." The prayer sounded ridiculous and he didn't feel like he was making any kind of connection to the divine. He began to understand what Dean saw in Molly's faith - emptiness and lack of reward. Human faith was never something he thought about in depth and he couldn't understand how their prayers ever reached his ears. But then he thought about all the times Dean prayed to him. He'd felt the hunter's faith, hadn't he? And there was nothing special in what Dean said - no magic words or antiquated biblical language. Castiel started again. "Gabriel it's me. It's ... Bean. I'm down here lost with a lot of sickness on my hands and I don't know what to do. It's going to get worse if I don't stop it. I need help. I need you." He swallowed hard as if blocking the words from creeping back down his throat. "Amen, I guess. Amen."

After a moment of silence and his sharp hearing trained on the smallest wilderness sounds, Castiel opened one eye and then the other. He didn't see anything different about the meadow. It didn't seem to work, he thought, arms dropping at his sides. Dejection began to fill his thoughts as he pulled himself off the ground again. Of course he could do a summoning spell on Gabriel but any kind of magic would have attracted The Order's attention. Prayer was the most clandestine way to go about it. But a summoning might be necessary in any event. He sighed, thinking of how much time he'd waste going back to his home where The Order thought he was so he could do the summoning there without leading them to the nest's hiding place. They were depending on him.

He swept the wet grass from his legs and turned, ready to retrace his steps and not at all ready to tell Dean the attempt failed. In the distance, just inside the tree line, a column of white skin glowed in a shaft of moonlight. Castiel stopped, startled at first, but then his heart beat faster when he made out the shapes of enormous wings arching high over the man's head. Familiar wings. Gabriel's wings.

Once he was sure it wasn't an illusion created to trap him, Castiel approached. He still had no idea what to say and the lack of a smile or an easy joke from Gabriel had him somewhat unnerved. Humor was such an intrinsic part of Gabriel's being that seeing him there looking back at him through such still features jolted Castiel into unfamiliar territory. He was used to being overly practical. It always fell on him to make up for Gabriel's inability to be serious when he was a young angel under the archangel's care. He'd been obedient and pleasing where Gabriel had been jovial and ridiculous. Now facing a celestial monarch in the dark of night who bore the weight of unexpected responsibility left Castiel second-guessing the father figure he thought he knew so well. Perhaps Gabriel absorbed more than he let on during Castiel's youth. Perhaps his flippant attitude was always a mask covering something much deeper.

"I think this is a first for us," said Gabriel when Castiel got close enough for them to speak without raising their voices too much.

"How do you mean?"

"You've never prayed to me before, Bean."

"I've never prayed to anyone before," Castiel admitted. He glanced around the woods. "Did you come here without your guard?"

"Yep."

Castiel slid his eyes back to Gabriel and studied the strain in his features. "The crown is getting heavy, isn't it?"

"They won't be happy I left without telling anybody." Gabriel shrugged. "My kid needs me. Whattya gonna do?"

A noncommittal hum rolled around Castiel's throat as he took measure of the archangel who raised him. Every cell in his being wanted to hate and spit and cry out at the injustice of the secrets between them piling up like bricks forming a wall. An abandoned fledgling was no laughing matter, just as it was among human children. He'd had a sister. There was another the entire time - someone he could have bonded with after Gabriel disappeared. But the trickster had robbed him of that too. The facts cycled through his mind over and over again until he clenched his fists at his sides and fed off the anger. Resenting Gabriel meant he wouldn't have to be abandoned again.

"Focus, Bean. Right here." Gabriel snapped his fingers. "You need my help. What's happening?"

Castiel took a breath and shifted his focus from resentment to his child's face. "The Order has brought disease to my nest."

"Disease?" Gabriel's eyebrow arched.

"Well, you ought to know about it. Limaneal stole samples of the mutated influenza from Heaven. Don't you remember?"

The skeptical eyebrow fell and Gabriel's eyes clouded. "I didn't know it was her. I didn't think the theft was related to this rebellion. The influenza was stolen almost a year ago."

"They've been biding their time, it seems."

"Your whole nest is sick?"

Castiel nodded. "Every last fledgling. Several humans have been infected as well. One or more of them specifically targeted Molly. We have her with the other infected ones in a quarantined building to keep the thing contained. It's an hour's walk from here."

Some time passed as Gabriel turned it over in his mind. He said nothing for a drawn out period until the silence nearly drove Castiel insane.

"What should I do?" Gabriel finally asked.

"You're asking me?" Castiel blasted back. "You're the King of Heaven! You're supposed to be my father! I prayed to you and brought you here even though I'd rather punch you in the throat because my nest is in deeper trouble than I can understand, and you ask me what you should do? Be a father! Be a grandfather! Be a king! Assert your power and say no more! Fix my family before I lose them!"

"I don't know how!" shouted Gabriel, cutting him off. "I can heal a sick human but I don't know how to heal an infected angel! No one does! The ones who knew are long dead thanks to dear old Dad and big brother Lucifer!"

The ground seemed to drop out from under Castiel as he stood there looking into the mystery of raw fear in an archangel. He never counted on Gabriel being utterly uneducated in the mutated influenza or any other problem Castiel might have laid at his feet. It was at that moment that he realized he did in fact look up to Gabriel the whole time, even in the centuries of silence. He truly thought if something dire occurred, Gabriel would know what to do. Every father was supposed to have all the answers. But Castiel was a father now too and he didn't know what to do either.

Scrubbing a hand over his face revived him enough to say, "You know how to heal a sick human. I tried but I'm not powerful enough. Let's start there. You can try to help Molly and the baby. There are other humans too. People who were living in her building. The Order released the disease into the water pipes."

"I--."

"--Gabriel, I'm begging you. Please come. Try. Just don't run away this time. You owe me that much. You owe James and my unborn child that much."

*****

Oil lamplight flickered on whitewashed walls as Sam cradled Noah in his arms. They all said Noah hadn't developed as fast as the other fledglings - whatever that meant - but now Sam was worried being behind schedule might spell out the little guy's demise. His weary eyelids felt like sandpaper every time he blinked but he didn't want to fall asleep until an angel came to relieve him. Noah had been crying every time they put him in bed. He wanted the warmth of a body in spite of his high fever.

"I was a little guy too," Sam whispered to the fledgling asleep against his chest. "Kids at school used to pick on me and beat me up sometimes but my brother always took care of it. I grew up to be bigger than him. Maybe you'll grow up to be bigger than all of your cousins too."

A breeze carried the scent of rain into the quarantine building, making the flames flicker against their wall sconces. Sam pulled his attention away from Noah and narrowed his eyes at the room and trained his ears on the smallest disturbances. They were well hidden. Castiel had assured him of that when the medic angels refurbished the building with just the power of their graces. Still, he was worried. Hadn't Castiel drilled it into their heads before that using grace left traces on the atmosphere that other angels could detect? He adjusted the quilt around the little bundle in his arms as if it would shield him from danger. The open windows allowed fresh air into their little makeshift hospital but they left Sam feeling insecure and unprotected. But when Demiel and Hetanel didn't stir from their rocking chairs, he began to relax a little. Across the room, Dean had fallen asleep while holding James' hand. He didn't dare make a sound. Dean hadn't slept since the influenza struck.

Sam needed to stretch his legs or he'd soon be asleep too. He slid Noah back into his little bed as carefully as he could without causing him enough pain to wake him. When Demiel met his eyes, he pointed to the floor above and she nodded.

The back stairs had been there since the building was constructed. Absent thoughts about its history flitted through his mind, pointing to its scattered and distracted state. Carrying sick people up to the second floor over such a steep nineteenth century stairwell had been rather difficult but the angel medics had insisted on keeping the angels and humans separated. Arturial and Sholitziel seemed to have taken charge of the entire nest since they had arrived the night before but no one had questioned it. If Castiel trustee them, Sam supposed he should trust them too, but his nerves were wrung out with so much sickness around him. He needed to get his hands on the rebellious angels responsible for infecting their children. He needed to break some necks. How dare they think they could do something so horrendous to innocent children?

Upstairs, much the same scene greeted Sam as below. The faint odor of feverish sweat seemed stronger from the grown humans than the little ones downstairs. He spotted Arturial and Sholitziel each leaning over Molly's bed.

"What's happening?" Sam asked quietly as he approached.

"We're trying to keep the fever down since she's pregnant," said Arturial as he draped a wet rag over her chest. She. Castiel had said something about that angel preferring to be a female. She spoke again. "The fetus is safe so far. It's simply a chore keeping the fever under control since a gestating human cannot take most medications. We're doing it the old way with cold rags to draw it down slowly as to avoid shocking her system."

"You can't heal any of these people with your angel powers?" asked Sam dubiously.

Sholitziel picked up the questions. "No. It's the same mutated virus as the fledglings have downstairs. It was designed to resist healing by grace. We believe the part that attacks angelic grace actually attacks the central nervous system in humans. I'm conducting tests. But do tell Castiel and his human that the gestating woman is safe for now. She appears quite ill, of course, but we are preventing her condition from worsening."

"Dean. Cas' husband is named Dean. And this is Molly. She's carrying a child so they could have a family," said Sam in a darkened tone. He hated the way angels reduced humans to mere animals even when they were trying to be helpful.

"Yes, of course."

As they spoke, Molly began tossing her head from side to side on her sweat-soaked pillow. Dark hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks in matted clumps. In spite of the pregnant swell of her belly, she looked wasted in the face with hollow cheeks and eyes rimmed in dark shadows. A weak arm reached out to Sam. He grasped her hand and leaned down so she could see him in the dim room.

"Dean?"

"No, darlin. It's Sam. I'm his brother, remember?"

Molly nodded faintly. "The baby...."

"The baby's all right," Sam assured. "You will be too. We've got good doctors looking after you and you're in a safe place."

"There were people," she said as if she hadn't heard him. "I saw strangers in the basement when I took my laundry to the machines. I couldn't make sense of why they were wearing hooded capes. Black hoods." Molly paused to work the muscles in her throat into a swallowing motion. "Castiel - he told me. Told me what he is. Told me to be careful. I was afraid of the hoods."

Sam held her hand. "Did they say anything?"

"No. Not to me. They spoke a different language. I tried to leave. Turned around and hurried. Door slammed shut without people touching it." Molly's forehead creased as her fear resurfaced. She began to wheeze as her breathing grew rapid. "Told me .... they told me to get away. Angels in town are evil. They spread pestilence among people. God isn't here anymore, they said. Couldn't imagine Cas being evil. I said so. One of them got angry and struck my face. That was a woman. The other one got antsy like her hitting me wasn't supposed to happen. Then they disappeared. Just like that. Gone. By nighttime I was sick. Why would they try to convince me angels are evil?"

"Well, there's a rebellion going on in Heaven right now and Cas is trying to stop it," replied Sam, measuring his words carefully.

"Like when Lucifer fell?"

"Something like that."

"Dear God," Molly whispered. Her eyes rolled back and she shut her eyes, overcome by fatigue.

"Don't worry. You're safe here." As Sam spoke in soft tones, he smoothed back her hair. She was carrying his niece or nephew. That made her family in his eyes. "We won't let anything happen to you. Just rest now. I gotta tell Dean what you saw but I'm only going downstairs. These guys here are doctors. They're taking good care of you. I'm sure Dean will be up to see you after you've slept some more."

With a quick nod to Arturial and Sholitziel, he retreated to the back stairs again. There wasn't much valuable information in Molly's story but it pointed to direct anger at Castiel for some imagined slight. If Molly could describe what the angels looked like, that would help a lot.

"Dean?" he said as he came down the stairs. "Dean, I just talked to Molly. She was awake for a minute."

The older Winchester brother blinked away the sleepiness from his brain and sat upright in the rocking chair. "What?" He directed the question at Sam but his eyes darted to the fledgling lying bandaged in the bed at his side.

"She saw a couple of the angels who did this," Sam said.

Before Sam had a chance to explain himself, the door at the front of the building flew open and shut. Two sets of footsteps and low murmurings drew Sam's attention from his brother. Both of them charged toward the front room ready to fight whoever entered their hiding place. There stood Castiel and Gabriel each washing their hands at the stainless steel sinks. Stunned, Sam felt his jaw hang open while Dean reached for Castiel and embraced him from the side. They weren't much for affection in front of other people but Castiel nuzzles him back, of course, without touching him with newly washed hands.

"I convinced him to try and help," Castiel said.

Both Winchester brothers peered at Gabriel as he dried his hands on a paper towel.

"Try being the word of the day," the King of Heaven said. "Show me where the pregnant lady is. I'll start there."


End file.
